Here is a brand new chapter! Remember what I said last chapter about having to split that one into two parts because it was so long? Well I played myself and made this one longer than I meant to LOL. Ah well. Please feel welcome to leave a review and let me know your thoughts. I may not always respond to them but I do read and enjoy them thoroughly.
(Can I just say that writing Draco as an unexpected comedic relief is my favorite thing ever?)
As always, for updates, news, and artwork made by ~yours truly~, please check out my bio and feel free to follow me wherever!
I've also realized it's my ten year anniversary of publishing His Little Bird online and joining the fanfiction world in general, so I'm thinking of doing something special to commemorate that, so stay tuned!
Hermione sat up groggily, blinking away the fuzziness in her vision.
It was well past noon, judging by the light she saw coming in from the windows. She stretched slowly, inhaling deep. Her muscles ached.
There was a knock at the door.
Yawning, she looked down at herself.
How long had she been asleep? She remembered falling asleep almost immediately after the incident with the Horcrux. She was still wearing her clothing from the day before. They were rumpled and she knew once she took them off there'd be imprints on her skin from them. She wanted a shower suddenly, thinking with pleasure how good the cool water would feel on her skin.
Another knock.
Had that just started or was that what had woken her in the first place? She didn't know but stood, walked to the door and opened it.
She saw Harry there, who looked relieved to see her.
"Hey," he said. He also looked as if he'd woken recently. His hair was messy as ever, obscuring his scar, and he smelled fresh and clean. The scent woke her quickly.
"Hi." She rubbed at her eye. "What time is it?"
"It's three pm," Harry said. "We were worried about you."
"I'm fine," she said, fighting back a yawn. "Just more tired than I thought, I suppose."
"Kreacher's made us some food, if you're hungry," he said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the kitchen.
"Yes," she replied. "I'll change and head downstairs."
Upon reentering the kitchen, Harry found Ron and Malfoy at the counter. Ron's mouth was full of food, but he nodded at Harry as he approached. Malfoy was leaning against it.
Malfoy had started to wear more casual clothing around them so he should have been used to it, but it still caught Harry off guard to see him in a regular jumper and denim trousers rather than the suits and formal robes he was used to. He had a sudden urge to look down and see if he was wearing trainers, too, but caught himself before he made his surprise any more obvious, and instead looked to Ron, who nodded at him.
There was no way he actually owned that sort of clothing. He must have transfigured it himself, or Hermione must have helped him.
Oblivious to his thoughts, Malfoy met his eye.
"Is she awake?" he asked.
"Yeah. Said she'd come down in a bit."
Malfoy nodded and turned away, but the look of relief on his face had not been lost on Harry.
Harry took a sandwich from the platter Kreacher had set out for them and sat down at the table where tea and biscuits awaited them. Steaming bowls of soup had been laid out beside that. Ron had already finished one bowl and was halfway through his second. The aroma was delicious—tomato basil. Harry dragged a bowl across the table and over to himself, and dug in, not caring that it scalded his tongue. Malfoy was not eating.
About a minute or two later, Hermione entered.
"Afternoon," she said.
Malfoy instantly went to her, his head bent and his eyes on hers as if asking a silent question. She nodded, pressing her hand to his arm.
They came to the table, sitting down beside each other. There was a strange sort of smile on her face as she did so.
"Feeling okay?" Ron asked, not having noticed her wordless interaction with Draco.
"Yes," she said. "To be honest, I'm surprised we got through that unscathed."
"Yeah, me too," Weasley said. "I'm still waiting for the Aurors to come out of the shadows at any second and arrest us all."
"They can't get in here," Harry said. "Not unless someone betrays us. Or one of us fucks up."
"Besides, they don't even know it was us," Hermione added. "It was a risk, but we got what we came for."
Her eyes were on the locket, which Harry had taken from his pocket and put in the center of the table.
"And more."
Malfoy was frowning.
"What do you mean?"
Hermione's smile grew bigger. There was a sort of pleased bewilderment in her eyes as she pulled her wand from her pocket and placed it in front of her.
Harry frowned.
"Er—can you explain?"
She was still smiling as she took something else out of her pocket—another wand—and set it beside her own.
They stared at it, horror dawning on them.
"I've got Umbridge's wand," she said, and the glee in her tone made Ron laugh.
Harry stared at it—it was thick and rather stumpy, but fancily carved and polished.
"How did that happen?" Ron asked, staring at it in disbelief.
"When she tried to attack you after she threw the locket, I disarmed her and took it," Hermione explained. "In the chaos afterwards, I forgot it was in my pocket until I was changing clothes earlier."
"Blimey."
Harry suddenly remembered an incident from years ago, when he'd just finished communicating with Sirius via Floo and Umbridge's hand had appeared in the flames, grabbing for the space which Sirius had just exited. He felt a lurch in his stomach and watched the wand closely, almost expecting it to happen again, like it was some sort of trap she had set for them.
Don't be ridiculous, he told himself. She couldn't have known.
He thought of her alarmed, suspicious face as they'd cornered her in her office. That and her shock at realizing who they were. That gave him some comfort.
"Reckon she'll remember it was us?" Ron asked, rubbing the back of his neck, looking uncertain.
Malfoy was shaking his head. "Unless they've got some way to reverse an Obliviate, it's unlikely."
"What are the odds of that?" Hermione asked, frowning.
Malfoy sighed. "I don't know. Maybe the Dark Lord has a way of doing it. That all depends on whether they deem the matter significant enough to really investigate."
"And seeing as it was an infiltration of the Ministry, an attack on a Ministry official, and identity theft, they probably will." Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course they'll look into it. Why wouldn't they? Even if Umbridge doesn't remember who did it, she'll definitely notice her necklace is gone. And her wand." At the look on Hermione's face, he added, "I'm not blaming you for taking it. She deserved that."
He looked up and caught Malfoy's eye. He looked like he wanted to say something.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
"We should have planned this better from the start," Malfoy replied. "We rushed into this at your insistence and it might cost us."
"Well, it's over and we succeeded, didn't we?" Ron asked. "Let's not pick fights."
"I'm not trying to pick a fight," Malfoy said. "I'm only telling the truth. If anyone had been paying closer attention, they'd have noticed something was off about us. We didn't know where to go or how to act. They'd have nailed us as imposters within minutes if their security wasn't such shit."
"Lucky for us they didn't," Ron said.
"We can't rely on luck," Hermione said suddenly. "Not anymore. There's too much at stake here to not bother with preparation. Even if we got through this time, we can't afford to slip up again."
Harry felt his ears burn. He made himself look away after several seconds of tense silence.
"You're right," he said. "I shouldn't have rushed it. We'll do better for the next one."
Under the table, Draco felt Hermione press his hand briefly.
"Thank you for listening," she said.
A natural pause occurred then. Ron continued eating. The others had fallen to their thoughts, eating quietly. It occurred to Harry then how odd the sight before him was—the four of them seated at one table and eating in comfortable silence. Not only that, but their underlying mission—and the presence of Malfoy, a reformed Death Eater in the making. It was enough to make his head spin. Had this been a year earlier he'd have convinced himself it was a hallucination. Maybe the result of one of the few concussions he'd gained over the years from Quidditch.
Hermione's arms were crossed. She appeared deep in thought, one hand still holding her teacup though it was empty. Her other hand lay beside the wands. She was staring at Umbridge's, at the ugly, stubby thing it was; two fragments of wood joined together by a glass bead, or something that looked like it. It was spiraled around the handle and as she stared at it, Hermione wondered what other sorts of cruel things she'd done with it.
The scar on her hand seemed to itch. She resisted the urge to scratch or hide it from view.
I must not reach above my station.
Sour hatred curdled in her stomach.
Stare down your nose all you like, she thought. This Mudblood has your wand.
"What are we going to do about the locket?" she asked.
Harry shook his head, looking bleak.
"Dunno. If the fangs didn't work, what the hell else is there?"
There was another round of silence around the table.
"We'll keep trying," Ron said. "We'll find another way. There's got to be."
Harry nodded, but didn't seem convinced.
"Any idea where to look next?" Draco asked.
Harry didn't reply for a moment. He seemed to be thinking hard.
"In every memory that Dumbledore showed me," he said, "it was usually about Riddle going after some sort of artifact."
"You mentioned he used to work at Borgin and Burke's," Hermione offered, and he nodded.
"He seemed really interested in the history of anything that was related to Hogwarts," Harry said. "And he was talking to the owners, asking about buying them, and when it didn't go his way he didn't seem pleased."
"I imagine even then he wasn't used to hearing the word no," Draco muttered.
"Did you see the other items?" Hermione asked, leaning forward.
"There was a cup," Harry said, his eyes distant as he sifted through the memory. "A golden one that the owner believed had belonged to Helga Hufflepuff. He wanted that one badly."
Ron frowned. "Why would he want that? I thought all he cared about was Slytherin."
"Dumbledore said Riddle had an unhealthy attachment to Hogwarts. He felt it was his home, and knowing he was a descendant of Slytherin just blew up his ego," Harry said.
"And if he was working for a collector like Borgin," Hermione added, "he probably learned a lot from him."
Draco was nodding. "Borgin's got…unconventional methods of getting what he wants, to put it mildly. He also doesn't like being told no."
"And we know Riddle cursed the Defense Against the Dark Arts position just because Dumbledore wouldn't give it to him," Harry concluded. "He probably felt the cup and the locket belonged to him just because they're tied to the founding of the school."
Ron had crossed his arms. "So he killed the owner and her elf just to get the cup, is what I remember you telling us."
Somewhere deep in the house, a cuckoo clock chimed.
"He framed the elf," Hermione corrected. "She was executed later because of him."
Draco had only heard part of this before. About the Pensieve. About Riddle's past and his ties to Hogwarts. But the deeper it went, the more his skin crawled.
"Then where could he be hiding it now?" he asked.
Potter gave them the scare of their life as he flinched violently like he'd been hit with some curse, and then shouted out in pain, his hand going over the scar on his forehead.
"Fuck!"
Hermione was out of her chair at once and by his side, clutching at his arm. She'd moved so swiftly she'd startled Ron. Potter almost twisted out of her grip, crying out again. Draco watched, utterly rattled.
"What is it?" she asked Potter urgently. "How bad is it?"
"It's fine," Potter said, but his white-knuckled grip on the table was telling, and Hermione's gaze discerned that at once.
For as long as they'd known each other, Draco's instinct had always been to roll his eyes or mock and ridicule Potter whenever he had one of his episodes. It was too convenient, he'd thought when he'd been younger. Potter the celebrity just wanted attention. Potter just wanted an excuse to get out of exams. Potter just wanted to live up to the hype of his name.
He'd never seen it from so close.
As he watched, Potter's jaw clenched and he groaned, his body writhing as if he was actually in pain despite the fact that visually, nothing seemed to be attacking him. Weasley now had him by the other arm, looking grim and as if prepared to support him if he fainted, but it passed almost as quickly as it had begun.
Potter relaxed suddenly, panting, withdrawing his hand from his forehead.
Draco could only stare. Hermione glanced at him, noticed his expression. Her lips pressed together in a grim line and she turned back to Potter.
"Are you okay, Harry?" she asked.
Potter nodded. He brushed his hair from his forehead, visibly shaken.
"Did you see anything?" Weasley asked.
"Barely. Just someone screaming... He's angry. I think he attacked somebody."
"Er—who?" Draco heard himself asking.
"I don't know." Was Potter's reply.
"No—I meant who attacked somebody?" Draco asked. "What just happened?"
Potter got up from the table abruptly and went to the sink, got himself a glass of water.
Hermione and Weasley looked at each other.
"Ok, well," Hermione said, looking unsure of how to start. "Over the years, we've found out Harry has a…connection to Voldemort. It's through the scar."
Draco glanced at Potter, who had busied himself in taking a long drink. He met Weasley's eye, then Hermione's. They looked completely serious.
"When Voldemort feels something intensely, and it's usually always anger, Harry feels it, too. That's why sometimes this will happen out of nowhere."
"I don't just feel it," Potter said, sounding weary. "I see things, too, like I'm looking out of his eyes. He's been able to manipulate my dreams before, but it hasn't happened in a long time."
Draco's stomach sank.
Oh.
"Does it go the other way around?"
"No. I would know. He would have used that against me by now if he could." He sat back down at the table with them.
"Merlin forbid that ever happen," Weasley muttered.
Draco silently agreed.
"How long has this been going on?" he asked.
Potter shrugged.
"It started when I came to Hogwarts, and it's been getting worse since Fourth year."
Draco frowned. Why specifically Fourth year? He tried to recall what had happened then—it was easy. The memories came flooding back. The Triwizard Tournament. The murder of Cedric Diggory. Potter's insistence that he had seen the Dark Lord reborn in the flesh, his renewed power.
Suddenly, he needed a drink. This was getting to be too much to take in.
Merlin. If he'd felt like an ass before, he felt ten times that now for having made fun of Potter over this in the past.
To share any sort of connection with the Dark Lord was bad enough—but a mental one was unimaginable. And all this time, he'd written him off as just wanting attention.
And I wasn't the only one thinking that, too.
He couldn't help the morbid curiosity that prompted him to want to ask exactly what Potter had seen in the past but felt it would have lacked tact to do so now when Potter was barely recuperating from…whatever he'd just gone through.
Potter seemed to sense his unasked question, because he spoke up.
"I've seen him kill people and I've seen him punish his own followers when they've displeased him," he said, locking eyes with Draco, as if expecting him to crack out an insult. "Things of that sort. It's not fun."
"Well fuck, Potter, I'd be worried about you if you did think it was fun."
A laugh emitted from Weasley like the crack of a whip. Hermione's snort was almost drowned out by it. Even Potter gave him a begrudging smile.
After their lunch they dispersed. Hermione had gone upstairs with the intent of updating the inventory and rearranging the contents of her bag. Weasley, wanting to stretch his legs, said he would take a walk around the perimeter of the wards and see if they had any more uninvited guests. Draco had lingered in the kitchen, finishing his now cold tea. Potter had stayed to wash his dishes by hand (Hermione had done so before him), which had baffled Ron and Draco.
He currently had his back to Draco as he stood at the sink. Draco fiddled with his teacup, not wanting the tea anymore but felt compelled to stay.
The sound of the tap running and the gentle clinking of dishware was oddly comforting. Draco wanted to speak but wasn't sure when or how to start.
"I didn't know how bad it was before," he said, not looking at Potter but into his teacup. "I shouldn't have made fun of you for that. It sounds enough to drive one mad."
"You'd know, wouldn't you," Potter said, turning off the tap to dry his hands, turning around to face him.
Draco looked at him curiously.
"You're tied to Voldemort in other ways," he said. "It nearly drove you mad, too, didn't it. What you did."
Draco could only stare.
"It was pretty easy to tell just from looking at you all last term," Potter said. "Er-at least, knowing what I know now, it seems clearer."
Ah, Draco thought.
Draco tapped his teacup with his wand to empty it, then tapped it again to clean it, and sent it floating through the air and back into its cupboard.
"I feel like I definitely went mad, but everyone's pretending I didn't."
At that, Potter's mouth formed a grim smile.
"I know that feeling too well."
Draco took the locket from where it sat on the table, turned it over in his hands. It weighed much more than the fake. It was cold to the touch—and there was something else about it he couldn't put his finger on that had him repressing a shudder. Like it was slightly clinging to his hand as he passed it to the other. He shook his head and put it back down.
"Do you think he's ever aware that you're feeling and seeing what he does?"
"No," Harry said. "He possessed me last year. At the Ministry. That was the only time he had control, and that he knew it was happening and could see what I saw."
Draco recalled the odd rumors he'd heard. "I'm still not sure I understand what happened there."
Potter's expression clouded over. Draco recognized grief etched there.
"I'll tell you some other time." He put the dish rag down on the counter. "Thanks. For what you said. I appreciate it."
He took the locket from where Draco had left it, pocketed it, and went upstairs.
Draco also went upstairs a few minutes after.
Grimmauld Place was nothing like Malfoy Manor. He had not seen the interior of his home for some time now but could recall it as easily as if he were there now. Motes of dust floated lazily around, clung to his clothing or tickled his nose. The lighting here seemed to be permanently set to dim. Malfoy manor was dim too, sometimes, but not always. It was always clean there, and smelled of gardenia, which his mother grew in her garden. There was none of this clutter he was looking at now—no peeling wallpaper, no creaks in the floor, as theirs were all marble or lushly carpeted.
It was warmer here, that was certain. He needed no layers here, and that was welcome. Grimmauld place was narrow and tall and stuffy, but not uncomfortably so, although he expected that was mainly because only he and the other three were living there, and the rest of the Order was not with them.
He remembered his room—clean, spacious, bright. He had lots of books (but had only read at least half of them) and his Quidditch things were carefully kept in a trunk at the foot of his bed. His desk had been a gift from a friend of his father's—he'd received it on his eleventh birthday and it had felt enormous then but as the years passed he had grown into it. He'd written countless letters to Pansy on it.
He'd never really bothered with decorating. His mother had insisted on putting up a landscape or two and he'd only agreed because his walls did feel a little too bare. She had chosen one and hung it there happily and changed her mind and added a tapestry instead of a second painting. It was a floral design but had serpents hidden within the bramble. He had rolled his eyes at it but she had been so cheerful he'd said nothing to spoil her mood, and barely looked at it.
Grimmauld Place had no bare walls. Tapestries and portraits and paintings took up much of them. Masks and strange knickknacks had been hung up to be displayed and he looked over them now as he made his way slowly to Hermione's room. Unfamiliar faces looked back at him. Some waved. Very few smiled.
Did he miss home?
It was hard to tell. He didn't miss what was inside it. He missed feeling safe. Untouchable. When they had been in the Dark Lord's good graces, that was what he had felt. Proud. Connected. Life had seemed so sure.
Grimmauld Place creaked quietly all around him. The portraits closest to him watched him silently, accepting his presence but saying nothing. Malfoy manor and his parents were leagues away, and he didn't know when he would feel at home again.
He felt like a child suddenly, aimlessly wandering in a dark wood.
You're on the right path, he told himself.
Draco reached the landing and went to Hermione's door. He could see the light on underneath.
Hermione's voice called him into the room after his knock. Draco entered, found her seated at the edge of her bed with her bag in her hands.
"What's going on?" he asked, sitting beside her.
"I have three wands now," she said, raising one eyebrow as she stared down at her bounty.
Draco looked down at them on her lap. He recognized hers with its creeping vine carved in a spiral along its length. Umbridge's lay beside it, considerably shorter. The third was unfamiliar.
"Whose is that one?" he asked, pointing to it.
"I was hoping you could help me figure that out," Hermione said. "I got it off a Death Eater at Hogwarts. I disarmed and stunned him, but I don't know who it was."
"I don't recognize it," he admitted. "Sorry."
"That's alright," she said. "I figured it was a long shot." She gathered the two extra in her hand.
"I'm not sure what to do with these. It's certainly too late to give them back."
"Why would you?" Draco asked. "You won them fairly in a fight. They'll make do and get another."
"It just feels weird, is all." She chuckled. "I guess it's better to have extra just in case."
"It proves your skill, that you've got a little collection here," he said, smiling. "You know, if they hadn't dismantled the Duel club so early on, I think you'd have been top of that, too."
"You sing my praises a little too highly," she replied with a blush.
He kissed her, kept it short and sweet.
When they pulled apart, she sighed.
"I still can't wrap my mind around why the basilisk fangs didn't work," she said.
"Maybe it was a one-time use sort of thing," Draco suggested. "Potter used it on the diary, didn't he?"
"Then the other fang should have worked," Hermione said. "Snake venom keeps its potency for years, even if the snake is dead."
Draco took her hand.
"Well, I wouldn't call a Basilisk a regular snake."
She appeared unconvinced.
We'll find a way," he reassured her. "If we've got to tear it apart with our own hands we'll do it."
She cracked a bleak smile.
"Do you know any dark spells that might help?"
"Maybe, but I can't guarantee anything I try will work."
She nodded, watching him closely.
"I'm glad you're here," she said.
Warmth enveloped him.
"I'm glad I am, too."
She squeezed his hand and turned to look at her bag again. Draco was no mind reader but he could see her running through her mental inventory, perhaps taking stock of what lay inside.
"I should start brewing more Polyjuice," she muttered.
"How much do we have left?"
"Not as much as I'd like. It's best to be prepared, and all that." She stood. Draco came up with her, pulled her in for another kiss.
"I'll help you," he offered when they broke apart.
She beamed.
They worked well as a team. As result of being the more proficient at Potions of the group, they worked quickly and within the hour, everything had been chopped and measured and weighed and added to the ongoing brew in the right order with the correct number of stirs. The potion had an unpleasant smell and looked like milk way past its expiration date. When it was safe to leave it alone, Hermione stepped back from the cauldron.
"If it weren't for our past," she said, wiping at her forehead with a handkerchief she'd pulled from her pocket, "I'd have been delighted to be your Potions partner, you know. You always made it look easy."
Draco felt himself flush.
"Were you watching me, Granger?" he teased.
"No," she said matter-of-factly. "Well, not as much as you're implying, thank you very much. I'd catch glimpses of you though now and then, and you never looked like you were stuck or needed help."
"I could say the same about you, my dear."
"I was convinced you were Snape's favorite, you know," she said. "I refused to believe you were that good at Potions. So yes, maybe I did watch you a little. But only just to make sure."
Draco laughed.
"Harry and Ron always pair up for everything," she said. "So I'd always get paired with someone else, and Neville's my friend, but he's just…not suited for potion making."
"I concur." He tipped his head, looking at her. "You really thought I was Snape's favorite?"
Hermione shrugged. "He's always getting you out of trouble and giving you points just for breathing, isn't he?"
"I wish. He might get me out of a scrape or two, but my godfather saves his lectures for in private. He plays no favorites."
Her eyes had widened. "Snape is your godfather?"
Draco nodded. "He was friends with my parents in their school years. He's always been close with my mum."
"What's he like outside of school?" Hermione asked.
"No different than he is inside school." Draco adjusted a sleeve that had unrolled itself and began to clear the worktable. "He's as affectionate as a plank of wood. And for some reason, my mother made him take an Unbreakable Vow that he would look after me."
"Before or after your assignment?" she asked.
"After." He cleared his throat. "That's why he kept "running" into us all those times."
She frowned, helped him clear the last bit of scraps from the table.
"I only recall one incident where that happened."
"He usually made himself known after I'd leave. Turns out he was watching me more closely than I realized," Draco said. "He warned me not to get close to you. I think he knew we would be a thing before either of us did."
She made a face. "How odd."
"Have you heard from the others at all?" Draco asked. He glanced at his watch. "Dinner's not far off and I'm hungry."
"Didn't you eat earlier?" she asked.
"Not really. Making Potions always makes me hungry, anyway."
"Harry and Ron are probably asleep," Hermione said. "No, wait—"
They heard wood creaking on the floor above them as someone walked around.
"Sounds like one of them's in the library," Draco said.
"Harry, probably," Hermione said.
They went back to her bedroom, Draco's hand resting on her waist.
"I might get a quick nap in before dinner, then," he said at the door.
Hermione looked back at him, having advanced into the room.
"You can do that here, you know. If you want."
He really did.
He entered the room. She raised her wand and closed the door behind him.
Draco took off his robe, set it over the back of a dusty armchair and came forward, kissed her. She stepped out of her shoes as they kissed, but lost her footing and giggling, fell onto her back on her bed, with Draco landing on top of her.
"Oof—sorry," she gasped.
"You did that on purpose, you little tease," he said slyly, kissing her throat. He supported himself on one elbow and his other hand was on her breast, cupping the soft mound over her jumper. He thumbed at her hardened nipple.
She scoffed. "This is on purpose."
She raised her jumper to uncover her breasts, revealing she had not been wearing a bra.
Draco grinned. "Touché."
She sat up a bit suddenly, raising her wand and aimed it around the room, muttering silencing spells. Relaxed, she slid back down and he bent his head to take her offering, licking and sucking as she moaned underneath him. Her hips kept coming up to push against his. Draco ground back against her slowly.
"Draco," she said breathlessly.
"Do you want more?" he asked, sitting on his knees again. He bent back down, kissed her deeply, his hands stroking her thighs. "Tell me."
"Yes." Her blush was so charming. He wanted to press his palm to her cheek and keep it there.
She let his tongue enter her mouth and brush against hers. His free hand kneaded her other breast, gently rolling her nipple between his fingers.
"Where do you want it?"
Locking gazes with his, Hermione took his hand and guided it down to where her legs met.
"I need you here."
Draco felt his insides melt with anticipation.
"Show me, sweetheart."
Had she been wearing trousers, the ordeal would have been a bit more difficult, but she was luckily wearing a skirt instead and so was easily able to help him push it out of the way, then took his hand and helped him push aside her panties, too.
She was so wet. Draco almost began to salivate. She was spreading her legs, her face red but her eyes bold.
"Touch me, Draco."
He blinked, not realizing he'd been stuck in a stupor. Would it be like this every time? He reached forth gladly, eagerly, gently stroked her mound and its thatch of brown curls and traced along her slit, torturously slow.
Meeting her stare was electric.
"How bad do you want it?"
"Very much," she said. "Please, Draco."
He continued to tease her there anyway, spreading her open to rub her clit.
His voice was husky as he looked her over. Her eyes were half-closed and she took in uneven breaths as he stroked her. Her wetness coated his fingers.
"You are so delicious, Granger. Every part of you."
She was blushing again but grabbed his hand.
"I need some part of you inside me right now," she said. "We can save the sweet talk for another time."
There she went again, surprising him. It was hot and unexpected.
He found a new spot around her clit that left her gasping. Her hips jerked into his hand. He pressed a kiss to her bent knee.
"Sweetheart, if we start this right now I'm afraid I'd want to carry on, and we'd have to forego dinner."
She smiled.
"I don't care. I'm not hungry for food."
That settled it, then. Draco wasted no time in undressing himself, using magic as an aid to not waste time.
The room was warmer than it had been previously, but goosebumps still rose along his skin. He was erect, feeling almost dizzy with the intensity of his desire.
She had also undressed and was now completely nude before him. They admired each other for a moment until their eyes finally met. Draco settled back over her.
"Is this really what you want?" he asked gently, brushing hair away from her temple. "With me?"
Hermione's hand pressed over his.
"I'd never have let you get this far if it wasn't what I wanted."
He bent down to kiss her hungrily—she responded in kind, her mouth opening in a gasp when his fingers delved past her lips again and circled her clit again slowly, then trailed down until he'd found her vaginal entrance.
"I want you to tell me if it hurts," he said seriously. "If you want me to stop or slow down—just say so, okay?"
He saw her mouth open at once, as if she'd meant to let loose a barb. He guessed she might want to repeat that she wasn't that fragile, and he needn't baby her. But he stroked her there gently, slowly, awaiting her response, and a little apprehension dawned on her expression.
"I want to make sure I don't hurt you," he said, his voice gentle.
Her eyes flicked over to his erection, gauged his size.
She nodded.
Draco slid his middle finger inside her slowly, watching her carefully; the way she let out a long breath and let her head fall back.
"Is this alright?" he asked.
"Yes." She gripped his free arm, her hold tightening as he began to thrust carefully, starting a slow pace to let her adjust. He put his thumb on her clit, let it rub at her as he thrust.
Hermione moaned. He loved how it sounded. Her breath was a hot pant against his chest.
"Go faster," she said, her eyes opening a fraction to meet his.
Gods, he was burning for her. He'd be a pile of cinders by the time they'd be through.
He felt her body clench around him and slowed, to her frustration.
"I'm going to add another," he said. "Are you ready?"
"Yes."
He did so, and began to thrust a little faster, curling his fingers inside her so that he stroked that ridge inside her. At that, her back arched off the bed and she let out an exclamation of pleasure that pierced right through him. Her pleasure was all over his hand, and his cock twitched impatiently. Need urged him to thrust harder, faster, but he reined himself in. Now was not the time. He wouldn't dare go all in and risk hurting her when she had no experience.
Her wetness and the friction of his thrusting was audible—she appeared embarrassed.
"Don't be," he said, and his other hand came up to rest between her breasts. "I love it."
"Do you really?"
"Of course, especially since it's coming from you." He slowed, leaned down, kissed her shoulder. "Have you ever touched yourself before?"
Her face was red again. "Not like this—not with something inside me."
Draco kissed her, his fingers dragging against a spot inside her that left her hips quivering and she moaned loudly, surprising herself.
"How does it feel?"
"Different." She let out a huff of laughter. "But good—it's good."
Draco took one knee and bent it so her foot was flat on the mattress. Her body before him was a delicious, tantalizing sight. He let his eyes roam over every inch as his fingers worked at her.
"Gods," she whispered.
"I can't wait to be inside you," he whispered huskily, bending forward and pressing his forehead to hers. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him closer for a searing kiss.
"Draco," she moaned, her hips pushing up into his hand again as he thrust a little more roughly, his need almost at its breaking point. Precum dripped thickly from his cock.
Her hips jerked again. A small whine escaped her. Her eyes were closed, her brows lowered. Sweat had beaded along her hairline.
He stopped.
"Am I hurting you?" he asked.
"No!" she said. "No. I'm close. Keep going." Her hand was over his again, urging him on.
Draco obeyed, and within moments she was curling in on herself, her thighs trembling as she came around his hand.
"Fuck," she whispered, and it was unbelievably arousing to Draco, who could count on one hand the number of times he'd ever heard her use expletives. Draco's free hand was stroking his weeping cock, trying his best not to cum just from watching her. It took so much concentration he didn't feel her nails burrowing into his back.
When it had subsided, she opened her eyes. They were glassy, slightly dazed, and full of desire as she looked at him.
"Thank you."
"For what?" he asked, grinning, his hand retreating from her, his fingers glistening and warm. "Sweetheart, thank you."
As she watched, he licked his fingers clean. She breathed heavily, her breasts heaving. Just watching him do that had her simmering again from the inside out. Between her thighs was a wet, sticky mess, and she felt herself aching for more.
Draco reached over to brush some hair from her forehead.
"How are you feeling?"
She smiled as an answer, reached down to join his hand over his cock. He let his fall away and she stroked him, watching as he wet his lips.
"I could do that again."
Draco laughed. "I was hoping you'd say that."
There was a brief silence as he straddled her again, positioning himself between her legs, his hands grasping her hips.
She did not look nervous. Oddly, he was, and that baffled him, because he was by no means inexperienced. He almost stuttered when he cast the contraceptive spell. She had been on the verge of asking him to do it, and pressed his hand in thanks.
Her hands ran over his form slowly as if she were studying him. Their gazes were locked. He was mere inches from her face, supporting himself on his elbows. The fire's light was like the master's stroke of atmospheric lighting on her—he admired how it adorned the curves and edges of her face.
"You're so beautiful," she murmured.
Draco went red. "No, sweetheart. You are."
She was going to reply but he was pressing his tip against her opening, biting his lip to focus on the pain and not bursting the second he would be fully inside her. She shifted, spreading her legs a little wider. She was wet enough, so deliciously wet that he needed no lubricant despite his size, which had posed problems for other partners in the past. He gathered up some of that arousal from her lips and spread it over his length.
"If it hurts at any moment or you want to stop, say so, okay?"
She nodded, and now there was a flicker of nerves across her face as he continued to push in slowly until he was fully sheathed inside her delicious heat.
Fuck. He almost came apart then and there. It was a miracle he didn't. Her eyes were distant but slightly wondrous as she took in the sensation of him being inside her—he could feel her body clenching around him gently, resisted the urge to give a sharp thrust to claim her in one stroke.
She gave an experimental grind of her hips, biting her lip. She shivered and did it again, and Draco placed his palm on her chest to stop her.
"You're going to make me cum in a second if you keep doing that," he said, his voice rougher than he intended it to come out, but he could see she was not hurt, and took it as the compliment he'd meant it as.
"Don't hold back," she said, giving him a meaningful look.
All he could do was nod.
Draco bent down, capturing her mouth with his as he began to thrust, rocking her with the movement. He broke the kiss a moment later, one hand palming her cheek as she moaned—her eyes were closed and her mouth was half-open. Her breasts moved as he thrust and he watched them, fascinated, taking one into his other hand to knead.
Her hands were on his waist, gripping him tightly, closer to her, occasionally exploring the musculature of his back or rather shyly grabbing his arse. Draco burrowed his head into her throat and gave a sharper thrust that had her gasping in pleasure.
"Oh," she whispered.
"You feel so good," he said around a long, almost tortured groan as he sank back inside her. Her legs trembled. "Merlin, Hermione."
She gave a soft, self-conscious laugh. He rolled his hips into her, his head dropping low.
Despite his efforts, he was almost at his rope's end. He tried desperately to think of anything else to keep himself going longer, but the clutch of her body and the sweet sound of her pleasured moans, her very heat were unspooling him faster than he could thread himself back together.
"Fuck," he said, gritting his teeth. "I'm going to come."
His hips jerked hard against hers and she gasped. Her hands held on to him tightly. She clenched around him more tightly.
"Yes," she moaned.
Draco needed no further invitation, and increased his pace, taking pains to not go overboard, fearful that in his pre-climax haze he might hurt her, but it didn't take long for her to unravel underneath him.
She let out a loud exclamation and came, her back arching, pushing herself into him. Draco exploded instantly, his arms wrapping around her torso, his hips making last, frenzied thrusts as he spent himself in thick spurts inside her. He let out a hoarse moan. Hermione had his face in her hands, pulled him down so they were nose to nose, sharing breaths.
They were breathless and slick with sweat when they finished. Draco pulled out, and she winced slightly but smiled and leaned forward to kiss him. When they broke apart, he rolled off her carefully and lay beside her. They faced each other, not saying anything for a few seconds.
"That was fun," she said, her smile fighting itself from growing wider.
He grinned back, took her hand and kissed its back.
"To say the least. I could do that over and over and over again."
"I expect we will." She winced again. "When my lower half isn't so sore."
"Was it too much?" he asked.
"Not at all. It's a good sort of sore. I just think I need a good stretch."
Draco smirked. "I daresay you just got one."
She swatted him on the arm, trying not to laugh, and failing.
"If someone had told me I'd get to do that with you in the future, I'd have started getting my shit together much earlier in life," he said.
She laughed.
"I'm still trying to wrap my head around it, myself," she admitted.
"Do you regret it?"
She gave him a look, as if to say are you daft?
"No." She moved closer to him so that they shared a pillow.
Draco slung one arm over her waist. Her face grew serious and her hands came over his to play with his fingers bending them at each joint absently.
Draco watched her, admiring her still flushed face, her 'I've-just-shagged' hair, her ravaged lips. Her eyes were distant and it was clear she was thinking of what she wanted to say so he stayed silent, afraid to break her train of thought.
When it was clear she would not speak, or was having trouble starting to, Draco touched her shoulder.
"What are you thinking of?"
She turned her head to face him, her eyes still a little distant.
"I've been thinking about what the locket said."
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Me, too."
There was no worry in her expression but he sensed it underneath her skin like a restless fire.
"Do you think it's right?" she asked. "It's just a Horcrux. What does it really know?"
Draco suppressed a shiver, recalling the locket's words.
"It's just smoke and mirrors," he said. "It's trying to frighten us."
She was silent for a moment, ruminating.
"It knew about you," she said, threading her fingers through his. "It knew about Ron's jealousy. How?"
"Dark magic," was all he could say. "Either that, or the Dark Lord can read minds and we're just finding out."
Hermione closed her eyes. "This would be so much easier if there was just one book surviving that could tell us everything we need to know about Horcruxes. I hate that we've got one and have no idea what to do with it."
"It's just a locket," Draco replied gently. "Yes, it's got a piece of the dark lord's soul inside it." He let out a huff of humourless laughter. "What can it do without arms and legs?"
Hermione's thumb traced the outlines of his palm.
"Ginny was possessed by Riddle's diary, when she had it and didn't know what it was."
Draco went still. "Oh."
"Granted, she had to do some rituals involving dead animals and stuff like that to make it work," she said. "But it is possible. She nearly had a breakdown because she didn't know what was going on, she had so many blackouts."
"Merlin."
"You still call Riddle 'Dark Lord,'" she observed.
Draco grimaced. "Force of habit. There are very painful consequences to not addressing him correctly."
"Did you do it?"
"No, but others did, and I saw what happened to them. My Father only refers to him as that, so it's stuck in my head. It feels wrong to call him anything else, even now that everything changed. But I'll try to remember next time."
"I don't care what you call him as long as I know you don't kneel to him," Hermione said.
"What did the Horcrux mean about you?" he asked. He had been wondering.
Before she could answer, the sound of sudden rapid footsteps climbing up the stairs made them spring apart. Hermione bolted off the bed first, looking down at her nude body as if suddenly remembering what they'd just done.
"Oh gods," she said, turning pale. "I need a shower."
"You haven't got time," Draco said. He pointed between her legs with his wand and muttered a cleaning spell. She jumped at the sensation but sent him a grateful look.
"Can you move okay?" he asked. "It doesn't hurt?"
She shrugged wildly. "It's fine, I'll manage."
The footsteps were even closer now.
"Hide," she hissed, reaching for her clothes.
Draco handed her jumper and she flung it on, then fumbled her jeans and swore.
The footsteps were almost on them. Spotting his own socks and shirt, Draco snatched them and began to hunt down his trousers.
Draco rushed behind the tall wardrobe as Hermione zipped up her jeans and attempted to smooth her hair.
There was a knock at the door. "Hermione?"
"Yes," she called. "Give me a second." She located Draco at his hiding spot and made a motion for him to stay put, as if he had suddenly decided to swagger out in the nude once the door was open. He bit back a laugh and nodded, throwing his top on over his head.
She opened the door.
"What is it?" she asked.
Potter's voice travelled from the doorway.
"Ginny and Pansy messaged through the coin. Haven't you seen it?"
"Erm, no—" Draco could envision Hermione's blush. "I was reading and I fell asleep."
"Again?" Potter asked. "You must really be tired. Are you sure you're alright?"
Once, Draco might have rolled his eyes at Potter's concern. Now, he thought it pleasing, reflecting on their closeness.
"I'm fine, I promise," Hermione said. "I was reading a boring book. What did they say?"
"News about the Ministry broke out last night," he said. "They wanted to know if it was us."
"You didn't tell them, did you?"
"I didn't. But I wanted to. I don't like lying to them." There was a pause. "I thought you said you never called books 'boring', only 'challenging'."
Draco had to hold his mouth over his hand to keep his laugh inside.
He could picture Hemione's blush as she stammered.
"Erm, yes, well this one really deserved it," she said.
"They said Tonks is going to come visit tomorrow," Potter said. "She's dropping in around noon."
Hermione sighed. "She knows… Okay. Think she'll be mad?"
"Dunno. We'll have to see. Dinner's soon, if you're hungry."
"Okay. I'll see you there."
The door closed, and Draco emerged from behind the wardrobe.
Hermione had her arms crossed, a furrow in her brow as she stood by the edge of the bed. Her jumper was inside out—he wondered if she knew. Had Potter noticed? Or that the room had a particularly musty smell? Or Hermione's clear, thoroughly snogged appearance?
He's either blind as a bat, too uncomfortable to point it out, or is going to hex the hell out of me later.
She looked down at the ground and let out a laugh.
"Your shoes are clearly visible here from the door."
Draco grimaced.
"Reckon they'll use magic or their fists?"
"Harry isn't the sort to do that," she said firmly. "Ron…perhaps, but I wouldn't let him anyhow. Plus, I doubt Harry would even tell him if he noticed. He's not daft, he knows it'd be asking for trouble."
"They're very protective of you, is all."
"I know," she said, her expression softening. "But I can make my own choices, and I take care of myself. I'm not an innocent child to be guarded, and I'll remind them of that if need be."
The next morning was an anxious one though they tried not to show it. They picked at their breakfast and Ron thumbed through the day's copy of the Daily Prophet. They had scoured the recent editions from top to bottom and had found no mention of the break in, which had confused them exceedingly.
"It makes sense," Draco had said when Ron had brought it up again. "The Ministry doesn't want to let out that they were broken into like that. Especially if they've got Voldemort's people working within."
"Too right," came a voice from the doorway, and they all jumped, turning to find Tonks standing there, watching them. None of them had heard her Apparate in, or the front door open. Ron choked on his drink, inciting Draco to whack him on the back until he was able to breathe again.
It must have been raining because there was a wet sheen on Tonk's cloak. Her bright pink hair was partly obscured by a thick beanie that she was pulling off, shaking her flattened hair out. A leather holster fastened around her upper torso and shoulder held her wand securely, ensuring a quick draw if she needed it. Her heavy boots thudded loudly on the floor.
Harry put his wand back into his pocket.
"Wotcher," Tonks said with a wink, and sat down with them at the table.
There was a crack as Kreacher apparated into the room, looking panicked. He was out of breath, doubled over as if he'd dropped whatever he'd just been doing and rushed to them.
"Master Potter," he wheezed, "we has a visitor!"
"Thanks Kreacher," Harry said, grinning. "We'll take it from here."
"Sorry there, Kreacher," Tonks said apologetically, although she was frowning slightly, having noticed his altered behavior. "I didn't mean to get the jump on you. I had to come quick."
Kreacher almost sagged with relief and Apparated away.
"We thought you said you'd come later," Ron said, pushing her a glass of pumpkin juice.
"I thought so, too," Tonks said, accepting it with a nod and tip of her glass. "But something came up so I had to do it now rather than later."
She took a long drink, then set it down.
"How did you know we're here?" Hermione asked.
"McGonagall." Tonks gave them a level look. "I know it's meant to be a secret. It'll stay that way. You can trust me."
"Of course we do," Harry said. "But why are you here?"
Tonks placed one palm on the table, leaned back in her chair and surveyed them all for a moment before finally speaking.
"Rumour has it that there was a break in at the Ministry yesterday," she said with a half-smile. "Heard anything about it?"
"No," Ron said a little too quickly. His expression was one of surprise. "What's happened?"
"Don't have all the details yet," Tonks admitted, shrugging. "I wasn't there, unfortunately, and it seems the Ministry is doing its damndest to keep the whole affair as quiet as possible. Even the Prophet's missing most of the scoop, to our collective shock. I heard it through Moody and Arthur this morning, ."
"Was anybody hurt?" Draco asked.
Tonks made a face as if calculating something in her head.
"No," she said. "Arthur said he heard something about a minor robbery, although whoever infiltrates the Ministry for a minor robbery is a damn fool. Who knows though, it might've been a distraction for something else."
Ron was trying hard not to grin. Hermione nudged him underneath the table.
"It would be helpful to know more details," Tonks said, "but so far there's nothing aside from that, and technically speaking, I shouldn't even be telling you that, so mind you don't spread it around."
"Promise," Harry said, also fighting not to grin.
"Good," she said. "Well, in response to that, word is the Ministry's beefing up their security, and they're sparing no expense. I can't say for certain what they're planning but I doubt any of it will be ethical," she said as casually as if reporting the weather, inspecting a fleck on her scarf, but the gravity of her words was not lost on them. "The odds of getting caught have increased, let's just say."
"Why would anyone try to break in to the Ministry in the first place?" Ron asked.
"There's too many answers that'd fit the bill, unfortunately. But I'm sure they'll think again about trying it another time or foregoing it altogether. Are the risks worth the rewards?"
Her eyes were on the locket, and if she knew that it didn't belong to any of them, or what it was, she never disclosed.
Harry took it and closed his hand over it, hiding it from view, a flush on his face, but his expression didn't waver.
"I hope they aren't mad enough to try again," he said.
Tonks smiled.
"Yes, let's."
A heavy silence threatened to overwhelm the room, but Tonks reached into her coat and pulled out a few envelopes.
"Ginny and Pansy send their love. The second one's for Draco."
He took it, strangely relieved to see Pansy's familiar script on the front.
"Thanks."
"How's everyone else?" Ron asked.
"All well," Tonks said, clapping him on the shoulder. "McGonagall told your parents you're all safe and nothing more. They're upset, understandably, but they're happy you're all together, at least—I didn't tell them that, but you're never not together, so they assumed correctly."
Ron nodded.
Tonks checked her pocket watch. The edges of her hair were fading into a softer pink. Her nose stud glinted in the light.
"I need to go," she said. "I probably won't see you for a while."
"Why?" Hermione asked.
"Top secret," Tonks said, winking. "It's better that way. It was risky coming to see you, but I won't do that again. I just came to pass on the warning and the letters since McGonagall couldn't." She sighed. "I'm supposed to tell you to not do anything stupid and stay hidden."
"But...?" Harry prompted.
"But that doesn't win any battles," Tonks continued. "At least, not the ones we're fighting now, or will at some point. Do what you have to, but do it smart. And if someone comes for you, remember this isn't Hogwarts anymore, and they will hurt you. Make sure you hurt them first, or run before they get the chance."
They nodded.
"How did the Death Eaters outside not notice you coming in?" Draco asked.
"They're bored out of their mind playing cards," Tonks replied loftily. "I slipped past them like a joke in a room full of goblins. I might also have thrown a Confundus their way."
She pulled her beanie back on, adjusted her scarf, and looked at them all one last time. Her scarf covered most of her face but her eyes were slightly anxious.
"Take care, you lot. Please."
"We will," Harry promised. "Take care of yourself, too, Tonks."
She grinned. "Always do."
She left the room and exited the house. When the door had shut, Hermione rushed to the parlor and peered out the window to watch.
A moment later, Tonks Apparated away.
"Does she know?" Ron asked at once, pale and pointing at the locket, still in Harry's hand. "Merlin, I think she knows."
"She can't," Hermione said, returning. "It's impossible."
"If she knows, then we're being too obvious," Ron said. "What if she gets in trouble for it?"
"Tonks won't go blabbing about it if she does, which she doesn't," Hermione insisted. "Let's not panic."
Harry opened his palm and looked down at the locket.
"She definitely knows it was us at the Ministry," he said. "But if this was about the horcrux, she definitely wouldn't have come here to hint at it," he said. "She's a trained Auror, and she's worked with Moody for years. She'd have known how crucial it is to keep that under wraps. She probably thought it was just a normal necklace. I reckon she just came here to warn us about the Ministry security."
"Let's hope so, mate." Ron didn't sound convinced. "Blimey. It's only ten in the morning and I've had enough surprises to last me the rest of the week."
"What does the letter say, anyway?" Harry asked.
Hermione opened it and began to read it aloud.
"Tonks told us five minutes ago that she was going to see you, which is why this is so short," she began. "We're all okay. Fred and George have come to stay with us for a bit—they're sure their shop is being watched and they've received a few threats. They think the Death Eaters might think you're hiding here."
"McGonagall's still fighting to keep Hogwarts a safe space for students, but the school council's already put the news out that they're intending to replace her with Snape for Headmaster, and from the sound of it, they're going to put more of Voldemort's people there, too. The school has been seized by the Ministry and they've locked it up so no one can get in although they said they'll reopen in time for next term. A petition's been going around to put a stop to them nominating Snape, and the Order's trying to fight the rest by taking it to the Ministry, but we know they're going to ignore us and do it anyway."
"Snape as Headmaster?" Ron asked, looking sick. "Merlin."
"Rita Skeeter put out a book on Dumbledore's life," Hermione read on. "It's a load of tripe, the whole thing. Don't believe any of it. We miss you lots and hope you're well. Let us know if you need anything and we'll find a way to get it to you."
She put the letter down, stuffing it back inside the envelope grimly.
"I think we need to go to Hogsmeade," she said, rubbing at her temple.
"Why?" Harry asked.
"To find more information on what we could possibly use to destroy the locket. I've been through my books so many times and found nothing useful. Even the ones we brought over from Hogwarts."
"There's a very slim chance we'll find anything useful on dark magic in a public shop," Harry warned.
"I know," she said, sighing. "But it's worth a try. Plus—if Snape is going to be Headmaster and the school's locked up I don't think we'll be welcome to use his stores any longer, and I need some more things for the Polyjuice."
"We'll plan something," Draco said. "This current batch of Polyjuice isn't ready so we'll have to use some transfiguration charms to disguise ourselves."
"We still have that box of goods Fred and George gave us, too," Ron said. "Might be something useful in there."
"We'll go through it and make an inventory of what's in it, then," Hermione said eagerly.
Ron looked exasperated. "Really?"
"It's important to know what we have at our disposable," Hermione said, a little peeved. "Heaven forbid we're in a situation we can't get out of, only to have the answer in our pocket."
"Fine," he conceded. "Are we all going on this side mission, then?"
"No," Hermione said. "Harry and I will go."
Harry looked surprised but nodded.
"We'll make it quick," he said. "How soon do you need those ingredients, Hermione?"
"No later than the end of the week or we risk spoiling this current batch of Polyjuice," she said. "That gives us enough time to make a plan."