Moving through the next week was easier said than done. I was nervous for my first session with Granger, and I couldn't get the witch off my mind. She genuinely seemed passionate about her trade, and it only made me want her more.
When that started, I'll never know.
I always knew that I had liked attention and the praise that came with it, but hearing the affirmation from her pretty mouth had unsettled me in the best way.
Very good. Better job. Most meaningful.
I kept turning her words over in my head, anxiously anticipating what she might say next time.
Arriving at the shoppe in Knockturn Alley, I didn't know how to feel. Granger had taken my attempt at covering my scars and turned it into something I felt proud of. All it had taken was a few hours in her presence, a suggestion or two, and I was already viewing the tattoo and, by extension, myself in a new light.
As I reached the second floor, Granger was nowhere in sight. It seemed odd, as she knew when I was due to show up. Her absence allowed me to take the shoppe in a bit more completely.
The space was much larger than the narrow stairwell would lead someone to believe; the entry opened up into the sitting area I had occupied last week and a workspace on the other side. The floor was a dark hardwood, accented with neat black rugs, and all of the other dressings were made of metal pipe. The decor made the shoppe feel inviting without impacting the needed sterility for the work done here. It didn't surprise me in the slightest that Granger would have such sharp taste and that she'd mix both Muggle and magical design concepts just as she had with her work.
One thing I hadn't noticed before was the tattoo chair for customers. It was a deep black that matched the chaise on the other side of the room with a small moving tray beside it. Again, I was unsettled at the thought of who may have occupied the chair before me.
It was as I began to take in the reading nook overlooking the alley where I had first found Granger that I heard a small lock click. A flustered Granger appeared from where the mantle had seemingly shifted to the side.
"Apologies for the delay, Draco. I hope I haven't kept you waiting long." Striding towards where I was hovering, she gestured to the chair. "Please, make yourself comfortable. I have everything all set for our session today."
At that, several vibrant vials appeared on the side table next to what looked like a mechanical quill. The nerves that I had somewhat tamed came roaring back to life.
"As you wish, Hermione." Smirk on full display, I moved to sit as requested and relished in the way her name rolled off my tongue.
"Now, this shouldn't be too unbearable. I've imbued the gun with a few charms that should help with reinking, pain management, and any other discomfort you may feel." She started opening and organising the aforementioned vials. "Do you have any last questions before we begin?"
Chuckling nervously, I asked, "You sure you've done this before?"
A smile broke across her face as she reached for my arm. "Nope, you're my first".
I wasn't sure what I'd done to deserve Granger's humour, but as she pulled out wax parchment with my design on it and began to place it, her easy banter lessened my anxiety. The process fascinated me, and I could see why this would appeal to her—collaborative freedom tucked neatly within the lens of routine.
As she made the last adjustment to the placement, she turned to me with a broad grin and began to quickly go through the colours she had selected. Not even the passing of time or a full-fledged war could sway Granger's ability to see the big picture, and ensure that everything was mapped out down to the smallest detail. Thorough as ever, the profession she found herself in was very fitting.
Once the ink had been transferred to my forearm, and she picked up the tattoo gun, I tensed. Surely this wouldn't hurt as bad as when I was Marked, right? In another move that lit me up, she reached over and, with a small smile, lightly squeezed my bicep, slowly working her way down to my wrist.
The act was so simple yet it sent chills through my body as she silently acknowledged my worry with her gesture and attempted to put me at ease. She murmured so lowly I almost didn't hear her when she said, "You're going to do just fine Draco. I know it for certain."
That was how it went for the next few hours. Granger would temper my reactions with small movements or words of praise that let me know how well I'd been doing as she worked around certain parts of the Dark Mark or more sensitive regions of flesh.
And fuck me if it didn't turn me on as she looked up to examine me with her big brown eyes, ensuring that I was still comfortable, and inquiring from time to time about my overall well-being.
With every affirmation, the tension between us grew thicker. Granger had to know what she was doing to me. I was at her mercy and flustered as ever.
Right when I didn't think I could take anymore, she announced that all of the linework was complete and we would be wrapping for the day.
"You've done so well today." She began to tend to the blood and smeared ink with a moist flannel. With a hint of a smirk, she added, "Much better than many of your friends that have come through my shoppe."
At that, I flushed, hoping she couldn't discern precisely how affected I was by her choice of words.
"This wasn't as bad as Pansy made it out to be. You aren't too bad at this, Granger." Raising my eyes to meet hers, I added, "I think I may just come back for the rest of these sessions."
With a chuckle, she bit her lip and she responded, "We've spent enough time together today, you might as well call me Hermione from here on out."
The first session bled into a second and then a third to touch everything up and ensure the linework was clean. Each meeting was filled with more praise than the last and as much as I wanted to believe that Hermione didn't know what she was doing, deep down I was certain she was onto me, and my newfound praise kink.
As we were wrapping up the last session, I couldn't help it when I all but spit out a request to join me for a drink later in the evening once she was closed for the day.
I could have sworn it wasn't only the lights playing tricks on me when she tinged pink from her cheeks to the enticing vee in her blouse.
No one had made me feel as seen as Hermione had over the past few months as she had made my vision come to fruition, and it wasn't a stretch to say that she was receptive to the flirtatious banter—she had, after all, initiated it more often than not.
As the moments stretched on, I felt more unsure, but followed up anyway. "Meet me at The White Wyvern?"
"I'd love to. You're welcome to wait here if you'd like and we can go together?" A shy smile broke across her face. "I've only got a few things to wrap up here, and I'll be ready within the hour."
Crossing the room, I found myself settling on the chaise, where the consultation had first occurred all those months ago. I knew that I didn't want this to be our last interaction, which was why I had asked Hermione to the pub.
Sitting here, my brain went into overdrive. What did this mean for the two of us? Did she feel the same as I had come to feel for her? Hoping as much, I lost myself in thought as I perused the books on the small table in front of me.
A short while later, Hermione appeared in front of me, and I took the time to admire her in this relaxed state. Her hair was pulled back in a high bun, and the wild strands along her crown were secured with a black bandana tied precisely off-centre. Her sheer blouse was accented by the dark Muggle denims that hugged her petite frame and accentuated her curves in all the right ways.
"Draco, did you hear me? I'm ready to go when you are."
Snapping to attention, I realised just how much I wanted her. "Lead the way."
Walking down the steps and out into Knockturn Alley, I felt the stares of everyone we passed. Nothing likely more shocking than Hermione Granger, war heroine, with the likes of me, Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater, irredeemable in some people's perspective.
When we reached The White Wyvern, I held the door open for her and proceeded to the bar. Once known for its seedier crowd, it had benefited from the transformation of the clientele. It also benefited from the fact that it was owned by none other than Neville Longbottom and, to a lesser extent, his wife and my friend, Pansy.
As we approached the bar, Pansy's eyes widened, and I knew that I would never hear the end of it. She might have recommended the shoppe to me, but there would be no getting out of the scrutiny—grabbing a drink with the artist wasn't part of a regular jaunt to the tattoo parlour.
Collecting our beverages, we made our way over to a secluded booth, and we were able to dive right back into the playful banter from before.
At some point, when our conversation turned to her favourite pieces that she had done, she proceeded to pull my arm over and roll my sleeve up to place my new ink on display.
"Yours for certain… which, there's no use in hiding anymore." She looked up at me through her long, dark lashes before launching into the specific reasons she loved her favourites.
I knew what we had together was shifting from the tentative friendship that had formed in the shoppe into something with a promise for more. Hermione's dainty fingers never moved from the place above my Mark, and I wasn't going to say anything about it anytime soon.
Drinks turned to dinners, which turned to late nights and more than anything I could have ever imagined when I'd first walked into Hermione's shoppe that dreary morning back in May. We spent many early mornings consulting about what I wanted to do next, as I had been itching to get back into her chair.
To my delight, her affirmations were not restricted to the shoppe, and after some discussion surrounding boundaries, they found their way into our regular interactions.
So good. You feel incredible. That's brilliant, Draco, please don't stop.
I was a fool for my witch, and she always knew just what to say to stoke that fire.
At length, we had spoken about my self-loathing and the original motivations behind the ink that brought us together. I told her how much I hated the scars I was left with after the war and my penchant for carrying my sins with me—literally.
Thus, I began to tell her about the concept that had been weighing on my mind to see how she might help me bring the idea to life. As I described the dramatic Hogwarts chest piece that spanned the entire front of my torso, her eyes lit up at the prospect of bringing one of her favourite places to life.
The way it was mapped out in my mind, the tattoo would span from my clavicles down over my abdomen and end right above my pubic bone. It was large and would take a lot of collaboration for her to bring the vision I had laid out in my mind to life.
My greatest sin had been letting the Death Eaters into Hogwarts our Sixth Year, and I was far from forgetting the way that it made me feel whenever I thought of my actions. That's where this piece came in.
Forgiving didn't mean forgetting, and it was the last real weight that I carried from those dark times.
One morning a few weeks later, while wrapped up in her sheets, Hermione began to trace the Sectumsempra scars that I was hoping to cover. I could sense her hesitancy and knew that she wanted to talk more about what I had shared with her.
Shifting her closer, I popped one eye open to take her in. "Granger, I can hear that pretty mind from here. Talk to me."
"Well, I've been thinking about your idea and… What if we incorporated your scars into the Hogwarts panorama instead of covering them?" I tensed as she trailed her fingers across my shoulder and down over the last bit on my hip bone. "Hear me out. We can work them in as turrets or staircases and the like."
I hadn't considered leaving them, but her thoughts were valid, and they prodded at my reasoning for doing this in the first place. In the beginning, though insincere, I had set out to learn to love myself through the assistance of body modification, and little did I know, it would also lead me to love.
This path that I found myself winding down as a result was beyond anything that I could have imagined when I'd first walked back into Hermione's life. She had asked me then if I trusted her, and fuck me if I didn't trust her with all I had now.
I was stunned silent as the realisation struck that she knew me. She knew my inner motivations and took every opportunity to elevate my visions in the best way that she could.
Kissing her deeply, I rested my forehead against hers and assuaged her uncertainty. "It sounds perfect, love. When do you think that we could start sketching it out?"
Inked skin on display, the sheets pooled at her waist when she shifted to pull something from her bedside table. I smirked to myself as I realised my witch had already begun without me. It struck me then that her caresses over my scar had provided her with the ability to trace my marks onto her charmed tattooing parchment.
We eventually moved from her flat to the shoppe's chaise and spent the day planning the piece's intricacies.
The time finally came for work on my front piece to begin, and I situated myself in the chair as I had done so many times before.
Hermione scooted close and ran through her routine of prepping the vials and arranging her tattoo gun. "Are you ready?"
I smirked as I asked, "You sure you've done this before?"
At her responding giggle, I kissed her one last time before I laid back for her to place the piece and start laying down the linework.
The session was much more intimate than the previous ones, and I was grateful for how far we'd come, grateful we could share in this together. Moving forward meant leaving my transgressions where they belonged, in the past, and this was the next step in doing so.
You're doing so well, love. Just like that. We're almost there.
When the session came to a close, Hermione wiped the area clean and gently applied the aftercare salve.
Wrapping my fingers around her wrist, I tugged her to sit astride my hips and grinned wickedly. "Now witch, why don't you come here and show me just how good I've been."
Fin.
Huge shoutouts to Somandalicious for the brilliant book name, sportivetricks (tamlane) for all her encouragement and helping me get inside Draco's mind, and dreamsofdramione for the banging beta and then some! The saying attributed to Narcissa, "the only way out is through" is originally from Robert Frost's poem 'A Servant to Servants".
Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed!
