A/N: Welcome back, friends. Thank you for your patience as I recovered from being sick (not COVID-19, fortunately) and then (after fully recovering and continuing to test negative) flew home to visit my family for the Easter holiday. In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed the companion piece that I released following Hermione's POV (3rd person, which was a very nice break from writing Draco's 1st person POV) from their first kiss. As always, happy reading, and thank you for leaving your love (or hate, which I will take as long as it is constructive) in the comments. I had SO much fun writing this chapter, and I hope it was worth the wait. A lot of Dramione is filled with angst, this story included, but I feel as if we rarely get to see them have fun together. This chapter has that, but also… spicy fun.
This chapter includes the use of alcohol. If this is a trigger for you, you might want to skip past it and message me for a brief synopsis.
Granger has to peel herself off of me in the afternoon so that she can run home. I almost protest and beg her to stay. It's not about the fear of the empty manor or the ghosts that I almost swear that I can see roaming the halls. Instead, it's the fear that I might miss one of her laughs or smiles or scoffs or quips. There could be so many while she's gone.
For her, it's something about having to feed her cat, run some errands, and finish some tasks for the Ministry. They're good enough excuses to leave the warmth of our bed, forever made more comfortable by the scent that has been left behind on the sheets. Once she's gone, I spend the day writing out more chapters for Mother and sitting comfortably outside in the sun. I can't get enough of it now that I've remembered how good it feels to have heat beaming down on me.
The little shed that holds all of the family's brooms isn't far off from where I sit. I consider it, spending the day feeling the air flying by my face and through my hair, but there is a lock on the shed's door that prevents me from opening it.
Hermione returns later in the evening with a bag in hand. I've abandoned the outside for the glow of the fireplace, knowing that it is the first place she goes to when she comes home to me.
"What's this?" I ask, eyes narrowing in on the bag.
It looks heavy. She takes her wand out of her boot after she's gotten closer and uses it to hover the bag in front of us.
"I was thinking about ways to help you loosen up. And I think I could do with some loosening up, too."
She has brought a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky and, more surprisingly, some chocolate liqueur.
"You trying to get me drunk now, Granger?" I ask, lifting an eyebrow.
"Maybe," she smirks, calling out an 'Accio cups' in the direction of the kitchen. "But only if you want to, of course."
Drinking was another Slytherin habit. It was a tradition for the graduating class to leave drinks hidden around the common room. We would go searching for them in the fall like it was a game and then save them for parties and for celebrating after the hardest tests. Firewhisky was no stranger, but I was always careful not to have too much. I couldn't let the warmth of alcohol convince me to start talking too much, as so many of the other Slytherins did. All sorts of secrets would come out on the nights that we'd drink. But with Hermione, the idea of a few shots didn't feel like a threat.
"Well, then cheers, Granger," I say, lifting up one of the glasses that she's poured into.
"Cheers, Malfoy," she says, lingering on my last name. What once sounded like a slur dripping from her lips now sounds like an inviting taunt, and once we've both downed our drinks, I pull her to me and leave a deep kiss on her lips. She returns in kind.
"So, just how drunk are we getting tonight?" I ask her.
"Drunk enough to have some fun. I'll be honest; it's been quite some time for me. Ron wasn't exactly a fan of drinking. One of his brothers took to it after the war, and so he avoided it so that it wouldn't become a bad habit. But I like to think that I have enough bad habits that adding one won't change a thing. In moderation, of course."
"So we're drinking in moderation tonight?"
"Of course not."
We down another shot, and I can feel the warmth slowly rushing through my veins. My body feels as it did the first time that we kissed.
"What can we do around here that's fun?"
My mind shoots back to the shed earlier in the day, filled with brooms made for flying.
"How do you feel about flying?"
"I've always been rubbish at it."
"What if you were just the one holding on?"
A glint of whimsy passes through her eyes, and I lead her to the shed. She's got her wand in hand, and I've got the Firewhisky in mine.
"Alohomora Duo," Hermione whispers, and the shed opens with a thud. "I'm always surprised when I'm allowed to use magic on the grounds."
"I don't think that Father would even consider the possibility of a Muggle-born getting this far on the grounds without being stopped." There should be more shame behind my words, but the whisky stops me from trying to censor myself out of kindness. She doesn't comment on it, either.
The shed is filled with decades of the most popular models of brooms. Thankfully, none of them are cursed. I stand in the doorway while Hermione walks through the room, which has been enchanted to be much larger than the outside would suggest. She touches the handles, making short comments on the craftsmanship. She eventually chooses one at the back that doesn't look capable of going too quickly.
She picks it up and looks back at me, taking my nod as if to say that she's made an acceptable choice. I pick up a second broom, one that can go much faster, as a backup.
"When was the last time you flew?"
"The last time I was on a broomstick was when you lot saved us in the Room of Hidden Things. Thanks for that, by the way."
"I wish I could say that it was my decision."
"Either way, the last time I was on a broom for fun was ages ago. Reckon I've still got it?"
I can't help but smirk while remembering my days playing Quidditch at Hogwarts. There was always anger that came with the losses, but it was always worth it for the fun that we had.
"Take a victory lap, then, before forcing me to get on this terrifying thing," Granger says, flicking her hand to the faster broom.
"I won't get in trouble from the Ministry for this, right?"
"No, Draco."
Granger makes a quick note of the darkness and flicks her wand in an unfamiliar pattern. Suddenly the sky around the field lightens up as if it were standing under hundreds of lit candles.
"You must be quite sober to be able to perform magic like that," I smirk.
"Or maybe you're just not used to a woman who can hold her liquor," she quips back.
With a quick good-luck kiss, I mount the broom and kick-off. It's as easy as walking. I take the broom as high as I can with Hermione still in view until the height and the whisky mix to become a dangerous combination. I don't feel quite as agile with the alcohol bubbling inside of me, but it doesn't take away the desire to zoom around the backyard. From high up, seeing the full length of the grounds and the larger fields that lie beyond it, my forced stay at the manor doesn't seem quite as suffocating. There's still a whole world, which I know when I look down and see a part of it standing there and looking back up at me.
I touch back down sooner than I'd like, missing her warmth.
"You ready?"
"Not on that thing."
Granger returns to pick up her chosen broom, calculating the risk of flying under the influence. She shakes her head before turning back to me, forcing the thoughts away but keeping her wand close by for safety. I mount it first before she climbs on the back and wraps her arms tightly around me.
"When was the last time you flew?"
"Probably the same time that you did."
We kick off together, and she lets me take the lead in directing us. Her frizzy hair makes its way to the front of both of our faces, flying in the wind. She doesn't laugh at it until I do, and the power of the wind makes her familiar scent more intoxicating than ever before. I fly us over the gardens, pausing in the air to give her a chance to look down and admire what little beauty the manor holds.
"I wish I could say that the heights don't scare me," she whispers, clutching on even tighter the higher we go.
She starts to loosen up after spending a bit more time familiarising herself with being in the air again.
"Show me how good of a flier Draco Malfoy really is."
"You sure you're not going to hurl on me?" I ask, noting the whisky sloshing in my own stomach.
"I trust you."
I start to speed up and dart around the manor, drunk off of the little noises of surprise that she makes when we speed up or go through a tight passageway. I take us back down once we've done the full flyby of the building.
Back on the grass, with both of our hair flying out of control from the wind, we share a laugh and another drink.
"My turn," she smirks, braver from the added drink.
She mounts the same broom that I'd chosen and flown first, looking a bit too comfortable.
"You coming?" She asks, signalling to the back of the broom.
"I trust you." And with that, I wrap my arms around her waist, but not before dipping my finger underneath the hem of her shirt and skirting it across her soft skin. She melts at the touch and turns her head, kissing me softly. Before I can kiss her deeper, she kicks off with her feet and has us flying, lips still attached. She breaks us apart soon enough, remembering her own fear of flying, and whisks us around the field in a frenzy of uncertainty.
"How are you so good at this?" I tell her after she manages to do an impressive lap around the field.
"I put a stabilising charm on the broom before we took off," she admits.
"Of course you did!"
The spell doesn't translate to the landing, and we rush back down to the grass with far more speed than either of us would have liked. Before we hit the ground, which would have surely been considered a crash, I pull us both off of the broom and land on my back with her on top of me. We both burst into laughter the second our eyes lock, and I can't help but notice how much pink has been added to her colour, thanks to the drinks.
She stays on top of me, smile still plastered across her lips, and positions her knees on either side of me, pinning me down. The smile doesn't leave her face as she reaches down and kisses me again, giggling as she takes a breath. This time she tastes like Firewhisky and the bravery of somebody who has just flown a broom, and it's a refreshing taste.
The lighting charm that she'd placed on the field starts to wear off as we kiss, bodies glued together, and if it weren't for the promise of more fun to be had with her, I might have considered keeping her here, in the dark, ready to do things that the darkness commands. But she whispers something about the chocolate liquor she's brought, and I let her know that we have butterbeer inside, too, and so we rush hand-in-hand back to the manor.
It's been long enough since our first drinks that the effects are starting to wind down, so we clink glasses once more, and then once again until we both feel it. My body feels looser, like the weight of the world has shaken itself off. There is only Hermione Granger, a warm house, and more drinks. That is until Hermione mentions being hungry, and then another world of food opens up.
"Brownies," she says, eyes lighting up in a drunken stupor.
"Should I know what that is?" I ask, trying to imagine what she means in my head.
"It's a chocolate dessert, and we need to make them right now."
"And why is that?"
"Because of how good it'll taste after another drink."
We stumble our way to the kitchen, swaying with every step forward, and crash through the door. Tomsy stands inside, alarmed, cleaning up the dishes from the day.
"Does Master Draco be needing more food?"
"Master Draco is needing some brownies!" Hermione laughs, smiling at Tomsy, who looks alarmed.
Master Draco… The words coming off of her lips make me hard, and, if it weren't for Tomsy watching her so curiously, I may have grabbed her then and there.
"Tomsy can be making the brownies, Miss Hermione!"
"Oh no, Tomsy! Please let me make them. Please!"
"But it is Tomsy's job to make the food!"
They go back and forth, and Hermione tries to maintain her usual level of politeness, but the alcohol has made her far more persistent if that was even possible.
"Tomsy, could you please go arrange my bedroom? And maybe even dust it, too?"
"Did Tomsy not do good last time?"
"You did a fine job, Tomsy. But I'd like it even cleaner than usual tonight if that's okay."
He looks back at Hermione and I, clearly not ourselves, and debates staying to help with the task of making these brownies. But he relents, with a quiet sob, and retreats to the bedroom. The bedroom that I might be bringing her back to later.
"So tell me exactly what it is that we're making."
She conjures up all of the equipment and food that we need, which includes various tools I'd never seen. Meanwhile, I crack open bottles of butterbeer for us to drink as we bake. She does the heavy lifting, now almost incapable of doing too much with her wand thanks to her drunkenness, but I splash some liquor into the batter just for fun. We're smashed by the time they go into the oven, but we're even more hungry than before.
"They'll be in there for 25 minutes," she tells me, the most serious she's sounded since our first drink.
"Can't you use your wand to speed it up?"
"I said, they'll be in there for 25 minutes. Now, what else can be done in 25 minutes?"
She hops onto the kitchen counter and spreads her legs ever so slightly, eyes turning into a brand new shade of wanting, as her energy summons me closer. My body flushes itself with the same heat that the whisky provided earlier, but this time it's buzzing from the excitement of getting close to her again. She was right that the alcohol would loosen me up a bit because inching my way closer to her feels more natural than flying, walking, or even breathing. If I had my wand, then I would use it to take all of her clothes off at once, but it's almost sexier as I approach, wrapping her legs around my lower torso and running a finger from her neck, down her breastbone, and to the top of her trousers.
She leans in, eager to kiss me, but I pull my wrist up to her chin and turn her face sideways, going for her neck instead. She lefts out a soft moan, almost begging for more. The confidence of the alcohol has fully taken control of my timidness, and the next thing that I'm doing is pulling her jumper over her head.
"Is this okay?" I ask after throwing her top to the side, craning my head down to kiss her breasts.
"Yes, please," she whispers back, hopefully floating from the effects of her own drinks.
"Stop me if anything gets to be too much, okay?" I whisper back, unclasping her bra from behind and gasping at the beauty of her chest. I've learned the shape of them through touch alone and imagined them vividly in my dreams from the night by the fireplace where she kept herself lightly covered, but the sight of her, and the never-imagined gentle freckles uncoordinatedly placed across her breasts, stun me into a silence of desire.
"Draco," she whispers, so seductively that my hardness is hard to ignore. "You don't have to worry about anything being too much."
She wants more than I've given her, and I'm sure of it. But with the now 23 minutes on the oven timer and the threat of Tomsy returning at any moment, now is not the time to take off my own trousers and plunge into her until she needs to muffle her screams.
I take both of her breasts in my hands, and she shivers at the coldness of them. I consider pulling them away, freeing her from the chill but instead use them to twirl my fingers around her nipples as they harden beneath my touch. I finally kiss her lips, hands still grabbing at her body, and pull my tongue against the roof of her mouth before breaking free and trailing my lips down the side of her cheek, and then her neck, and then the top of her chest, until my mouth is closing over her left nipple. I graze it gently first before coming back to leave a love bite that makes her squirm around my legs.
My mind takes a brief jump backward, away from the physical intimacy of whatever is happening, feeling the moment more deeply. It is as if a thread is connecting both of our bodies; I can feel the pleasure that she feels, and she, in turn, can feel how much I desire her. I have felt nothing like this before, and it is beyond my wildest imaginations while touching myself alone. The urge to grab myself, or to ask her to touch me in return, are nowhere to be found. All I want to do is to make her scream my name. And when I come back to the moment and remember that she's sitting on the kitchen counter, legs wrapped around me, begging me to do whatever I'd like, all I can feel is lucky and excited for the possibilities at hand.
I keep snaking my tongue across her bare chest, noting where she shivers the strongest or moans the loudest while dipping my hands lower and unbuttoning and then unzipping her trousers. I kiss my way back to her neck and then her ear, leaving a long suck at the bottom of her earlobe before breaking away for a moment.
"Can you lift yourself up for a moment?" I whisper, and she knows exactly what it is that I need from her. She wraps her arms around my neck and pulls up, giving me the space that I need to slowly slide off her trousers from the space between her and the table, before sitting back down, leaving a pair of black knickers between her and the countertop. Once her arms go back to her sides, where she leans back and juts her beautiful thighs toward me, I pull myself down to my knees where I can pull her trousers all of the way off, one leg at a time. I do it slowly, leaving a trail of spit and kisses across her tighs as I do.
After each leg is free, I can't help but run my entire hand down the length of her, feeling the pieces of her skin that I hadn't had the pleasure to before. And then, once she's sitting there in nothing but her knickers, I have to fight the urge not to be overwhelmed at what's next. I could take another shot for confidence or ask her to brew me enough Liquid Luck to succeed at making her cum. But when I finally come closer, smell the scent of her, kiss up her thighs until all I feel is the softness of her skin, the connection between us comes back, and I know that I've never been ready for something in my life the way that I am to taste her.
I remain on my knees, legs long enough to put me at the perfect height, and bring one arm behind her, pulling her arse forward on the countertop. I keep my lips on her thighs, rotating between sucks, bites, and kisses as she lets soft, encouraging moans drip from her lips. My fingers pull themselves forward, finally given permission to dip them under her knickers and find unfamiliar wetness that is begging for me in the same way that I've pictured during almost every shower since we first kissed. Her whole body shudders as I graze the front of her with my palm and then slumps with pleasure as I slowly stick the length of my finger inside of her.
I start to tease her, bringing my lips higher up her thigh as my thumb grazes the top of her clit, index finger still motioning inside of her. It starts to feel as if I'm teasing myself more than her, as I'm practically drooling to get a taste of her. She may be dripping wet at this point, but my cock is equally as eager to explode. To hold back, to maintain the teasing spirit, I promise myself not to bring my lips to her until I hear her beg for it or hear my name sung from her lips.
Suddenly, as I run my other hand up to her chest, just barely able to wrap my palm around her breast, her knickers disappear. I glance up at her to see that she's made them disappear with wandless magic. Her smirk quickly dissolves into an open-mouthed gasp as I get even closer to her with my lips, emitting a hot breath on her clit as I slowly pull my fingers away from her.
"Please, Draco," she whimpers, and there is my green light to gently run my tongue up the length of her. My body seems to release some tension of its own as I stumble into the deliciousness of her, and it is unlike anything I've ever felt on my lips before. It is pure sex, and my head goes wild as I acquaint myself with this new piece of her body. I listen for her noises again, get friendly with the touches that make her moan the loudest, and let my hands explore her thighs, her back, and her ankles while my lips refuse to so much as come up for air.
Hermione's own hands find their way into my hair, tugging at her peaks of her pleasure and seemingly pushing my face even deeper into her thighs. How could anybody ever want to allow themselves to be obliviated without feeling this pleasure at least once?
Minutes later, after I have tasted every inch of her and used my tongue to dive as far into her as possible, she squishes her thighs around my neck, and I feel almost a rumble around my skin. I look up at the right time, locking eyes with her as her lips tremble in anticipation, and the pleasure seems to take over. She lets out the most magical sound imaginable that only inspires me to keep going, refusing to let her stop until she can't take it anymore, holding onto her gaze as she tips over the edge. Her body ruptures under my touch, and her legs start to shiver uncontrollably. She's cumming, and it's all for me. I lap it up, wishing that I could lock myself in this moment forever and know that if I were to so much as touch my cock I would be spilling over, too.
Slowly, her body eases up, and she turns into a mess of heavy breaths and slow whimpers. I pull my lips away, giving her the space to breathe and kiss her thighs until I crawl back up to face her. I go to bring my sleeve up to my lips to wipe away the wetness of her, but she kisses me before I can, and somehow it's even sexier than all of the kisses before. Before I can pull away, to ask how she is feeling, or dare touch her again, the loud sound of an alarm goes off.
"The brownies are done," she laughs, and I fall into a fit of joyous laughter against her chest.
One moment we're tied together, her nakedness pressed against me, the smell of her on my face still. The next, we're sitting side by side, her still undressed, me in my clothes of the day, eating brownies on the kitchen floor. They're as good as she had suggested, and we wash them down with more butterbeer.
"The drinks were a good idea," I tell her between bites. The chocolate is heavenly, but I want to press myself into her skin again.
"I think so, too," she blushes, barely aware of her nakedness.
As we sit, bodies practically collapse onto each other, my eyes scan the room. It's mostly Tomsy's things; ingredients for cooking, dishware, copies of the Daily Prophet. But tucked behind an unfamiliar box is the all too familiar bottle of the Draught of Peace from Hermione and me that I had asked him to hide. The one that had taunted me in my room for days, only for it to be forced upon Tomsy to keep away.
"One more drink?" She asks once the brownies are done, and we take a final swig before I grab her hand and pull her to her feet. She finds her wand amongst the chaos and transfigures her jumper into a green satin robe, covering herself in case we come across Tomsy. As she ties it enough to cover the skin of her torso, I nab the Draught of Peace and push it down into my pocket before taking her hand again.
We slowly make our way to my bedroom. She knows the way now, and so I let her lead. We bump into Tomsy on the way there, and Hermione exchanges pleasantries with him while also apologizing for the mess we left from the brownies. As she does this, I unstop the Draught of Peace and, without giving it a second thought, take a sizable gulp. The effects are nearly instant; my body stops its alcohol-induced buzzing, my mind is free of anxieties, and I can focus on the goal of making love to Hermione Granger. These feelings remain as we say goodnight to Tomsy and head to my bedroom.
Once we're inside, Hermione turns to me as if it's my turn to enjoy the evening. She slowly unrobes herself, once again revealing her curves, her breasts, her piercing skin. She undresses me next, carefully tugging my jumper over my head, and taking off my belt even more slowly.
As she does, the combination of the Draught of Peace and the seemingly endless flow of alcohol that we've had starts to mix inside of me. I feel even drunker than before, and my head becomes fuzzier. She stands in front of me, beautiful as ever, but with a slight blur. Once I am down to my boxers, I take her in my arms again and push her back onto the bed, climbing over her and planting kisses across her face, her neck, and her chest. But the movements of it all seem to clash, leaving me confused about where my last touch was. I pull away slowly, dazed, as if this could all be a dream.
"Draco, are you okay?" Hermione asks, and I feel her hands leave my lower back and plant themselves firmly on either side of my cheeks. I hadn't even felt them before, hadn't known where they'd travelled.
"I… I took a bit of the Draught of Peace before we came up here, just in case my anxiety came back…."
"Oh no," she says, hugging me closely.
"Why? What's wrong?"
"Alcohol and the potion so close together can cause temporary memory problems," she shares before listing off the reasons why. They go over my head.
"What does that mean for us here now?"
"Well, you know that we're both here, in your bed, nearly naked?"
"Of course," I say, looking down at her and feeling the desire to do nothing but kiss her.
"But you might not remember all of what we do from the time you took the potion."
I might feel loopier than before, but my desires to fuck her are stronger than ever.
"So you're saying if I do this," I stop and kiss my way back down to her thighs. "I might not remember it tomorrow?"
"Exactly," she sighs as I plant kisses back up her torso.
"There is nothing in this world that I want to do more than fuck you right now," I whisper into her ear once I've climbed back up to her.
"Me too," she sighs.
"But I want to remember it," I say, the weight of my stupid decision weighing on me. "I can't have you and not remember it.
"I know," she confirms. "The effect of the alcohol will only last for as long as you're still drunk. So you should be okay tomorrow."
"How are you feeling?" I say, still grabbing at her skin and begging myself to remember the feeling of it in the morning.
"I feel really, really good. And if I have to wait another day to touch you again, then so be it," she says, convincing herself as she says it.
"What should we do now, then?" I ask, wishing she could brew up an antidote but knowing that she's too tipsy to do it.
"Let's go to bed, Draco."
She says it without sounding disappointed, as I might have had the situation been reversed. Instead, she sounds pleased with the day and as excited to crawl into my arms as she could have been to crawl underneath me. Instead of finding pyjamas and pulling the covers over us, she leads us both to the shower, where we both undress, allowing the steam and the nearly scalding water to wash away some of our drunkenness. It is only when my eyes adjust to the light of the room that I realise I am standing naked in front of her for the first time. It takes a moment for her to realise it, too, but eventually, she comes closer to me, water pouring over both of our faces, and embraces me. We stand together, bodies almost becoming one, under the water until it goes cold and our minds fade to sleepiness.
I don't remember who does it, but the water turns off, our bodies are dried, and we stumble into bed and fall into each other's arms, falling asleep before I can remember to say goodnight.
A/N: There should be another chapter this weekend. I hope you all enjoy the rest of your week!