Draco sighed as his apparition landed him in a deserted alley a short block from his designated meeting point with Hermione. He had come to a decision: this was going to be the last of their little forays outside of the coffee shop. His feelings for her had grown so far beyond friendship it was painful. If his little wanton display in the cafe earlier this morning were any indication, he couldn't be trusted in her presence. He had to protect himself, and ultimately her, from their relationship getting out of hand.
Just tonight, just get through tonight. You can put the walls back up Monday, just don't be an arse to her tonight and no touching outside of anything strictly platonic.
Draco steeled himself to be distantly friendly, but then he rounded the corner before the restaurant and he spotted Hermione. He stopped walking.
Her beauty completely overthrew him once again. He allowed himself to stand totally still, half hidden behind the corner of a brick building and simply take her in, unseen.
Hermione had clearly put a lot of effort into making her usually riotous curls behave themselves for the evening. They were pulled back into a sleek bun at the base of her neck, with a few strands artfully left to frame her face. Her short dress was an elegant, rich purple and Draco grew warmer under his suit as he realized he'd never seen so much of her bare skin. The high neckline of the sleeveless dress fastened like a collar around her throat, leaving the skin of her shoulders and arms exposed to the night air. The dress flared out slightly at her waist, falling to just above her knees, which meant Draco could see plenty of leg and Merlin, she was wearing heels.
Weasley has got to be the biggest idiot alive. There were countless instances throughout his life that Draco had thought of Ron Weasley as an absolute moron (on the quidditch pitch, during classes, any time he opened his mouth, etc.) But seeing Hermione tonight, he felt the strongest surge of that thought yet. How did that tosser ever let her go?
The sobering thought of having to let her go made his gut clench painfully. A smart woman like her, she had to know, right? She must know Draco was no good for her. He was so terrified of losing something he didn't even have with her. A coward to the last, Draco knew that losing Granger was something his heart could not afford. In all his wildest daydreams and fantasies about a relationship with her, there was no version that didn't end with her eventually leaving. It would be inevitable, he couldn't offer her anything beyond a pathetic excuse for a wizard still desperately trying to figure out how to live his life. His surname came with so much public baggage, not to mention all his private emotional and mental baggage but at least he saw a Healer for that, it would cause any prudent witch to run screaming for the hills. If they ever were to embark on something romantically meaningful, she'd eventually come to her senses, or Draco would massively fuck up again, and she'd leave and be his ultimate undoing. This had gone far enough already.
And so Draco would do what he'd successfully done his entire life. He would lie. He would lie to himself and the rest of the world. A brief tour of Draco's life of lying follows:
Age 12: I'm better than Hermione Granger because I'm pureblooded and she is Muggleborn. Lie.
Age 13: I'm definitely not afraid of Dementors. Lie.
Age 15: I'm absolutely not jealous of Harry Potter's moronic army of children learning advanced defensive magic and I think Dolores Umbridge is a sane person. Lie.
Age 16: I'm honored to receive the Dark Mark in service to the Dark Lord and have zero qualms about having to murder Albus Dumbledore. Lie.
Age 16-17: Everything is fine. My family will survive our service to the Dark Lord. Everything is fine. The Dark Lord will succeed and our family will be rewarded. This is what I want. A world ruled by the Dark Lord will be a better one. Lie.
Age 18-21: I'm coping. I can stop using Dreamless Sleep Potion any time I want. I don't need help. Lie.
Age 22-Right Now: I don't need anyone. I can handle the sleepless nights. I can handle the night terrors. I don't need anyone. Lie.
Right Now: Pursuing a relationship with Hermione would be a mistake. I will absolutely be able to handle life without her. I like being alone. Lie. Lie. Lie.
Perhaps a person who was not Draco could judge him for all the lies over the course of his life, but then hadn't those lies allowed him to survive? There is a vast difference between surviving and living, Draco, said Healer Browning's voice in his head.
Draco pushed his Healer's advice away. He would continue to lie and pretend that he was perfectly fine going home alone every single night to his too-large-for-one-person estate. He would continue to lie that he preferred the deafening quiet and that his loneliness wasn't slowly crushing the life out of him.
Hermione fidgeted with her watch at her wrist and Draco thought she looked a little nervous. But Draco could do this. He could hurt her now and save her in the long-run. He'd do what he'd failed to do the night his aunt had tortured her on the drawing room floor: save her from pain. He knew she was attracted to him (the feeling being very much mutual there) but eventually that would fade for her. Hermione Granger was destined for continued greatness, and he wouldn't stand in the way, wouldn't drag her down with him. Tonight would simply be a goodbye to a future that could never occur. One day she would understand that this was for the best.
We have to let this go. Let me let you go, Granger.
Draco took a breath and pushed himself off the building and fully around the corner into view. Her head turned in his direction and her face lit up. She beamed so hard she practically glowed. And all because she'd seen him.
Too much has happened already, I'm feeling too much for you. I'll only hurt you.
He swallowed the hesitation lodged in his throat as he willed his body to approach, feeling like he was floating toward her, pulled in by some energy out of his control. You're just friends, just friends, just friends.
"Hello!"
"You look lovely."
The words tumbled out before he could stop them and he knew the breathless reverence in his voice betrayed him. Draco was furious with himself because "lovely" was both too much and not nearly enough at the same time. You look beautiful, breathtaking, fucking transcendent, and I will never forget how you look in this dress.
He watched her take a small breath before she replied. "Thank you."
The restaurant was an upscale Italian eatery housed in a white brick, two-story building, with strings of lights draped invitingly along the outside of the façade and extending over the head of an outdoor patio. Hermione had opted to reserve a table indoors even though it was unseasonably warm, what with British weather in April being about as easy to predict as teaching an owl to swim.
As they were led to their table inside, Draco was startled to find most of the restaurant watching him and Hermione together. Two women seated at the bar openly stared at him, and he narrowed his eyes at their brazenness. Another woman actually nudged her dining companion and all but pointed her finger in his direction.
In the 30 seconds it took to be seated (more stares as Draco pulled out Hermione's chair for her), his mood had soured considerably. Draco glared down at his menu, fuming.
"What's wrong?" Of course, Hermione had noticed.
Draco fidgeted in his seat and huffed irritably. "I thought you said this was a Muggle restaurant?"
"It is."
"Then why is everyone in here gawping at us?"
He expected her to dismiss his suspicion. He expected her to roll her eyes and tell him he was being a paranoid egotist. What Draco did not expect was for Hermione to let out a snort of laughter.
"Oh Malfoy. They're not staring at you because you're 'Draco Malfoy, notorious heir to the Malfoy fortune.'"
"Then what the hell is going on here?"
She gave him that look of maddening superiority tinged with pity, like she always did when she felt the information at hand was ridiculously obvious.
"They're staring because you're probably the most attractive man to walk in here tonight. Probably the most attractive man they've ever seen, really."
She said all this in an objective, offhand voice, as if his attractiveness were an established fact of the universe she'd memorized for a History of Magic lesson. Did she really just admit that? Did she think that way about him?
"Everyone was staring at you too," he sputtered out, trying to wrap his mind around her bold declaration of his attractiveness. And indeed, half the stares from the restaurant patrons had been directed at Hermione, though she had failed to notice.
But Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well of course, they were all wondering how someone who looks like me could possibly be out to dinner with someone who looks like you."
Did this woman not own a single fucking mirror?
"No Granger, they were staring because of how bloody gorgeous you look in that dress," he snapped. He immediately flicked his eyes back down to the menu and pretended to read so he wouldn't have to witness her reaction.
Now that was not very platonic, was it?
Draco didn't dare look up until a waiter approached to take their drink order. Hermione cleared her throat and ordered a bottle of red wine in a voice higher than normal. He noticed a faint blush on her cheeks that extended part way down her neck.
They didn't speak or look at one another until wine had been poured into a glass for each of them. Hermione seemed to be gathering up her courage as she sat up straighter in her chair and held her glass toward him.
"To a night of firsts," she toasted, boldly meeting his eyes.
He should have bit out a scathing reply. He should have spurned her toast. He should have put a stop to all this nonsense months ago.
But Draco was a weak, weak man. Especially when it concerned the enchanting woman in front of him.
"To a night of firsts," he repeated and clinked his glass against hers.
Draco steered the conversation toward Hermione's upcoming conference and felt some of the tension seep out of the air between them. At several moments throughout dinner, Draco completely forgot they were sitting in a Muggle restaurant. The wine was excellent and the food as good as any other fine dining establishment Draco had visited over the years. The only real differences between this Muggle place and a wizarding one was that none of the dishes or bottles floated toward them and no one around them wore robes. None of the patrons brandished wands or cursed Draco because of his family name, angrily demanding an explanation for him daring to share a meal with war heroine Hermione Granger. It all felt so refreshingly normal, to be an anonymous man out to dinner with a beautiful woman; one who was kind and intelligent, and just as anonymous as he was here in the Muggle world.
Draco listened attentively as Hermione explained one of the more complicated rune translations she'd discovered in an ancient text, when she suddenly trailed off and stared at him.
"Erm, Granger? Everything all right?"
She frowned and seemed to come to a serious realization. "I talk about my career a lot, don't I?"
"Yes? But I don't—"
"You never talk about your job with me."
This turn in the conversation baffled him. "Of course I do. I always answer your questions."
She shook her head and continued to frown. "Yes, you always give me the facts and sometimes you talk about your colleagues. But you never tell me how you feel about your job. I don't even know what you like about your work, or what you find interesting about the sport."
Draco chuckled warmly at how adorably put-out she looked at not knowing an answer. "You hate quidditch," he replied simply.
"I do not!" she huffed indignantly, causing him to chuckle again.
"You absolutely do. Why would I bore you to death about a topic that is of no interest to you?"
She looked slightly hurt at his response and fidgeted with her wine glass. "But it's not as if you're interested in the welfare of magical creatures. Am I boring you incessantly in the mornings?"
Where the hell was this lack of confidence coming from? "Well of course not, I'm not some sort of bleeding heart do-gooder," he declared. "Do you think I honestly care about how deforestation affects bowtruckles? It's nothing to do with the topic of conversation, it's everything to do with the way you practically ignite with excitement and passion about your causes. There's no half-measures with you," he paused to take a fortifying sip of wine. "You're many things Granger, but never boring."
Those brown doe eyes pierced him, tempting Draco to raise his occlumency shields, but he knew she'd never take advantage of him in that way. Besides, all of his emotions were probably scrawled across his face in a glaringly obvious fashion.
The spell thankfully broke when the waiter approached with the bill. Before Draco could pull out the thick wad of Muggle money he'd brought with him tonight, Hermione slid a small plastic card into the billfold and handed it back to the waiter.
"Is that a new type of currency?"
Hermione shook her head. "No, that's called a credit card. Instead of having to carry around the paper or coins, I hand them the card and sign an agreement to pay the amount from my bank funds. Everything occurs electronically. It's terribly convenient, don't even get me started on how the magical world could benefit from a similar system. Giant gold coins are ridiculously cumbersome."
"You should have let me pay," he frowned, annoyed that she wasn't letting him display any sort of chivalry. She waved his statement away. "No, you got the tickets tonight and you paid for the ballet. Besides, I need to keep building my credit in the Muggle world. You rob Gringotts one time and they constantly treat you like a criminal every time you need to visit your vault…"
Draco laughed at the image of Hermione being harassed by a group of security goblins. "Come on then thief, we don't want you accused of purloining the silverware tonight."
They exited the restaurant and made their way back to the deserted alley where Draco had originally apparated earlier in the evening. Hermione glanced surreptitiously around them, then determining they were quite alone and hidden, nodded once. Draco produced his wand from inside his suit jacket pocket and performed a series of taps to his collar. Instantly, his black dress robes and cloak with ornate silver fastenings flowed over his suit, his waistcoat appeared, emerald cuff links materialized at his wrists, and a bow tie wound its way around his throat.
"Damn," he muttered fidgeting with the askew bow tie to pull it straight. "I can never get that spell to get it quite right…"
He looked up at Hermione and the speech center of his brain decided to go on holiday. Hermione's purple dress had lengthened down from her knees and flowed into a delicate short train with a silvery pattern of ivy sewn along the back and edges of the gown. The top half of her dress remained the same, which meant Draco would have the rest of the night with the sight of her bare arms and shoulders. Unaware of his heated stare, she threw an extravagant midnight blue cloak around her back; the rich velvet material covered in a sparkling design of stars that seemed preternaturally bright. She looked up then and noticed his stare. "Isn't it beautiful? It was a gift for my birthday last year from George and Angelina. I've warned them never to tell me what type of silk the stars are, because I'm fairly certain I'd have a moral objection."
Draco wanted to snort derisively at her, but all he could think was how the brilliance of her cloak absolutely paled in comparison to her. He grunted some sort of feeble response and continued fumbling with the crooked bow tie at his neck.
"Oh here, let me! I've gotten quite good at bow ties over the years." Before he could even open his mouth to protest, she stepped up to him and took the strip of material from between his clumsy fingers.
He let his hands fall limply to his side as she invaded his space. Her hands just below his chin, it would take but a quick jolt of his head down to press his lips to her fingertips. She was so far in his personal space that every small intake of air was accompanied by that sweet, wonderful, mysterious floral scent that haunted every corner of his mind when they weren't physically together.
"There," she whispered, as she gave the tie a final tug into place. "It's perfect now."
You're perfect.
Could she feel it too? Draco stared into the warm depth of her eyes, so close to his own that he could pick out that glowing golden hue, and wondered if Hermione also felt the thrumming of desire through her veins. Her fingers slowly let go of the bow tie, but she hadn't moved away. Would she object if he pressed her back into the wall of this brick building and latched his mouth to hers like he wanted to, so very badly? Would she protest if he told her to forget all about the sodding opera, he'd much rather run his hands all over her curves the rest of the evening?
Remember who you are? Remember what you are? You can never be what she needs. Let her go.
Draco closed his eyes and cleared his throat. "We should go," he whispered, his voice unable to produce anything stronger. He took a step back and offered her his arm for apparition. He tried to ignore the swooping sensation in his stomach as she squeezed his arm, and told himself that it was just the feeling of apparition and nothing more.
When they landed outside the grand opera house and joined the throng of other well-dressed wizards and witches, she wound her arm through the crook of his own. The feeling it inspired within him was warmer than butterbeer, better than blueberry scones, more satisfying than Dreamless Sleep potion.
Hermione Granger was out for a night on the town, on his arm, in public, by choice. It shouldn't have made him this disturbingly content, this obscenely proud. Because this was a fleeting feeling and he'd do better to squash it now.
The precise night of this show appeared to be wonderfully fortuitous as far as Draco was concerned. It was neither the opening night of the show, nor the closing for the season, meaning cultural press coverage would be scarce. Glancing around the entrance, he was greatly relieved to discern a complete absence of gossip or fashion reporters. He recalled that luck was on his side once more: there was a Weird Sisters reunion show across town tonight, and that would surely be the more exciting venue for celebrity- and gossip-hungry press. Hermione was on his arm tonight and he would be damned if anything was going to ruin this brief detour into happiness.
Hyper vigilant of his surroundings since the war, Draco's eyes darted left and right as they entered the grand lobby. Though they caught a few stares (damn his recognizable head of hair) no one seemed to be pointing, sneering, or reaching for their wands. Hermione had once confided in him that the public often didn't spare her a second glance when she took the time to tame her hair: apparently her public image was only instantly recognizable if her hair was peak frizz as she carried stacks of books and trailed after Harry and Ron. Draco had almost laughed to the point of tears when she confessed she'd once received a painting of this very scene in the mail from a deranged fan.
The witch on his arm looked up at the ceiling of the opera house in starry-eyed wonder. The entrance hall was a long gallery, requiring patrons to walk quite a length before reaching the actual theater. Draco knew in the past, this long and richly carpeted entrance served as an excuse for the old wealthy and pureblooded patrons to show off their extravagant dress robes, strutting like peacocks on parade. He had a few hazy memories of performing this walk before with other witches, but that seemed like a lifetime ago. He'd accompanied one (or was it both?) of the Greengrass sisters (Astoria had the lighter hair, right?) to the opera on several occasions, but conversation was minimal and Draco would have been at least one bottle of whisky deep by this point in the evening.
The hall itself was the height of opulence: gold-framed mirrors, floating crystal chandeliers in every size, but the ceiling was the piece de resistance. Painted in vibrant, bold colors, the scenes from famous operas danced above them; looking both impossibly lifelike and ethereal at the same time. Draco had never really noticed the magic in the artwork before, but seeing it through Hermione's eyes he could begin to appreciate the combination of astounding artistry and spellwork that had to coexist to create such wondrous murals.
Draco used his free arm to point to the rendering of a mournful young woman in red pacing in front of the entrance to a labyrinth. "See her, just there? That's the depiction of the show tonight."
Her gaze followed his pointing finger and found the form of Ariadne, an ancient Greek story, and Draco already knew Hermione was familiar with this one. As they completed their long walk to the end of the gallery, Draco used the opportunity of her distracted upturned gaze to observe Hermione. Is this what his life could be like? If he hadn't been such a colossal fuck-up, could his life have turned out differently? If he'd gotten his shit together sooner, maybe nights like this would have been a fantastic, regular occurrence instead of an aberration from his usual seclusion?
They followed the filing line of other patrons as they approached the end of the gallery. Both stopped in front of pairs of floating white gloves. The gloves sprang to life and relieved Hermione and Draco of their cloaks for the evening. Hermione took his arm once more as they climbed the lush, carpeted stairs to their box.
An usher pulled aside heavy maroon curtains as they reached a point about halfway up the theater. Hermione's jaw dropped as she rushed forward to take in the view from the balcony of their box. "Oh wow, this is amazing! I've never had seats like these before in any theater!"
A private box? Damn Macnair I really do owe you.
They each settled into their plush seats, Draco thankful that the opera house invested more gold into comfortable seating than the ballet theater. Draco tried to remember if he enjoyed opera at all. His previous excursions to this type of entertainment still remained foggy (maybe it was Daphne Greengrass that had the lighter hair? She's been really into opera. Or at least paid it more attention than she did to him) but he hoped it was less mind-numbing than ballet. Especially because he was going to need something, anything, to distract him while sitting so close to Hermione.
She fiddled with a beaded bag and Draco chuckled when she eventually removed a small pair of gold spectacles.
"You brought your own opera glasses?"
She shrugged, a mischievous smile played about her mouth. "You know I like to be prepared. A fancy evening out to the opera has always been a fantasy of mine."
Draco grinned wickedly. "Is that so? Tell me then, how does this fantasy of yours usually end?"
For the second time that day, she called his bluff.
Hermione didn't answer him. Not verbally, anyway. Instead, her eyes bored into his, then slowly scanned up to his hair, made their way back down to his eyes for a moment, then continued their exploration south. They lingered on his lips, trailed a searing path down his neck, loitered on his chest, and then traveled down, down and still further down, until she was openly ogling his trousers just below his belt. Just as her darkened brown eyes found his again, the lights in the theater went down to signal the start of the show and Draco remembered that his lungs required oxygen to work.
A coy smile tugged at her lips as she turned from him and faced the rising curtain. Dear Merlin, if she flirted that outrageously with him one more time Draco didn't know what he would do with himself.
The show had started and some slip of a soprano was warbling in Italian but Draco found he could not force himself to care, not one tiny bit. He'd seen this show before, possibly with his mother, or perhaps Astoria? No, it was Daphne. Maybe.
Either way, the opera was duller than an early morning History of Magic lesson taught by Professor Binns. He cast a furtive glance at his lovely companion and noticed the opera glasses remained in her lap. As if she'd felt his gaze upon her, her eyes darted to her periphery, and she inclined her head slightly towards him. She gave him a shy smile, perhaps embarrassed by her flirty behavior earlier and redirected her attention to the performance below. Draco's stare never wavered from her. He could not care less about the classical show, as something far, far more enthralling had captured his every sense.
The rest of the opera house, the entire crowd, the singers below, ceased to exist in his eyes. There was only her, sitting less than a foot from him in a gorgeous fitted gown, the light golden skin of her arm begging to be touched and stroked.
Her head tilted slightly toward him again, but she didn't smile this time. Her facial features seemed to tighten, and she shifted in her seat, inadvertently bringing her body a few inches closer. Both of their arms resided on the wide armrests that separated their seats, and Draco let his gaze wander from her face, down her arms and finally to her delicate-looking hand.
It would take but a few centimeters of movement from his right hand, and he could gently brush against hers. His eyes flicked back up to her face and he noted the way her jaw had unclenched. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye again and her lips parted as she drew in shallow breaths.
Which of them would give first? Draco was certain that his longing for her was palpable at this point. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to touch her, just once, just tenderly graze the bare skin of her hand with his own. He trailed his eyes up the length of her body to the soft curls falling gently from her low, secure bun. How would it feel to comb his fingers through the escaped pieces of hair?
Draco's pulse quickened, his heartbeat in time with the rise and fall of her chest. Hermione was almost facing him now, not even bothering to keep up the pretense of watching the performance. Their arms remained apart, and her eyes flickered down to his hand every few moments.
Just a hair's breadth stood between their skin touching and Draco knew she could probably hear his breathing or at least the traitorous thumping of his heart against his chest. What would happen if they gave into this sensation? Every blink of her eyes, every slight intake of air in between her pink lips kept twisting and winding a coil all the way down to his toes, and something had to give soon.
Hermione angled her body just a few inches more and now she fully faced him. This wasn't a game anymore, and after months of blistering stares and stolen glances, perhaps they were both finally ready to acknowledge the charged atmosphere between them. Sod the opera, and sod the need to have an excuse to spend time together. Draco wanted her and if he was reading the heat in in her countenance correctly, he knew she wanted him too.
A full-blown duel could have broken out on the stage below and neither one of them would have noticed nor cared. The lights of the opera house came on to signal intermission. Neither of them dropped their gaze. Draco felt his heart in his throat.
"Would you like to—?" he began. Now, Draco was 99 percent certain that his question was going to finish with "grab a drink out in the lobby?"
However, that remaining 1 percent contained an abundant amount of other fantastic, more enticing, possibilities. For example:
"Would you like to ditch the second half of the show and go down the street to a quiet little cocktail lounge where we can sit in a dark corner and my hand can work its way up your thigh?"
Or:
"Would you like to have me press you up against one of these marble pillars and snog you senseless?"
Or:
"Would you like to have me bend you right over the edge of this box, and in front of the entire crowd gathered here tonight, just go ahead and—"
But he never got to the second half of his question.
"Malfoy?" A familiar and unwelcome voice called his name and Draco froze. He saw Granger's eyes dart behind him, and his heart sank. He closed his eyes briefly, schooled his features, and slowly stood, turning to greet the incredulous face of Blaise Zabini.
"Zabini," he responded coolly. He felt a rustle just behind him and realized Hermione must have stood as well.
"I thought that was you, what with the hair and all," Blaise explained dryly. Draco hadn't seen his former schoolmate since his mother's New Year's ball, and he'd only exchanged about two words with the man then.
A statuesque woman in amber dress robes clutched Blaise's arm and gave Draco the once-over. "May I present Cecilia Montesquieu," Blaise said carelessly. Draco's old dorm mate could have brought a broom as his date for all the emotion he displayed in regards to the woman affixed to his arm. If Blaise had wanted to bring someone he could comfortably ignore, Draco wasn't sure why he had picked such an impossibly distracting person: her hair was charmed to flash several different colors simultaneously, and the diamond pendant glittering on her neck was the size of a plum.
"Pleasure, I'm Draco Malfoy" greeted Draco stiffly. He merely shook her proffered hand quickly, not wasting his time or effort to observe the pureblood etiquette of kissing her knuckles. The woman let out a vapid, high-pitched giggle. "Oh, but of course I know who you are!" It took more muscle control than necessary for him not to roll his eyes out of his skull.
He turned his attention back to Blaise, who peered around Draco with interest and he realized: he didn't recognize Hermione. Gritting his teeth, Draco steeled himself for the Knut to drop.
"Zabini, I'm sure you remember Hermione Granger from school?"
Draco took pleasure in the way Blaise's eyes widened a fraction and his mouth dropped slightly open before he instantly reverted his features back into his effortlessly haughty and impassive mask. On a normal person, that reaction would be akin to gasping loudly in shock, but Blaise Zabini was not a person with normal human emotions.
"Granger? Really?" he drawled, neither greeting her nor offering a hand to shake.
"Zabini," Draco heard Hermione respond icily. Draco felt a surge of pride in the degree of coldness she managed to inject into just three syllables; it could have frozen fiendfyre.
Blaise's date meanwhile, openly gaped at Hermione now, her painted mouth hung open in a comical "O" shape.
Draco fixed Blaise with a chilling smile, daring the other man to spit out the insults that were most likely dancing on the tip of his tongue. Blaise merely cocked one eyebrow and answered with a smug and appraising look of his own.
"Well as… interesting as this has been, we'll head back to our box. Good seeing you as always Malfoy, join us for a drink after the show, won't you?" Without waiting for a reply from Draco, he swept his date, who was still gawking at Hermione, back through the velvet curtains.
Draco forced himself to count to ten before he turned back to Hermione. That rude little git had done his best to make Hermione feel as unwelcome as possible. It certainly hadn't gone unnoticed by Draco the way he'd barely acknowledged her existence upon learning her identity and the way he'd pointedly left her out of the invitation to drink later. And if Draco had noticed the slight, then someone with the intelligence of Hermione certainly had as well.
It was the douse of the cold water of reality that Draco needed to rein in his emotions from earlier. Just when Draco thought he had any right to be worthy of Hermione, his past had burst into the evening to remind him that no, actually, he had no business being anywhere near this woman.
He could play the fraud no longer. Blaise had gotten right under his skin with but a few words and glances, and it was all Draco could do to stop himself from chasing after him and hexing him six ways from Sunday. He counted to ten again as he silently seethed in his seat, unsure of how to redirect the fury coursing through him.
Hermione may think him a changed person, a good person, but people like Blaise Zabini would always be around to remind him of every awful thing he'd done in his pitiful life.
He faced Hermione suddenly, an apology about to tumble from his mouth, when she spoke first. "As pompous as ever, isn't he? Do you see much of him?"
"No, thankfully. Any longer than that in his presence and I wouldn't be responsible for which curses leave my wand," he spat and she seemed to recoil from him.
The lights of the opera house went dark once more to signal the end of intermission and the beginning of the second half of the show. A different kind of tension settled between them now: Hermione fidgeting absently with her opera glasses in her lap and Draco staring at the stage with glazed, unseeing eyes. He kept his hands to himself the rest of the show, not daring to have his tainted self anywhere near her.
As the final hour crept by, Draco calmed down and was able to think rationally. He didn't need to be such an angry prat and ruin Hermione's first time at the opera. He'd go back to being friendly and cordial after the show, maybe suggest a night cap somewhere nearby.
When the final notes rang out and the performers all filed onto the stage for standing ovations, they both stood and silently exited their box.
"That really was wonderful, thank you for suggesting this," Hermione finally said quietly. Draco offered her his arm to guide her down the stairs and back to the gallery. "Not at all, Granger." When she placed her hand on his arm, he tried not to luxuriate in the warmth of her touch, knowing this moment would be over all too soon.
They retrieved their cloaks from the floating gloved hands and made their way toward the exit, Hermione struggling with the fastening at her neck. "You'd think this thing would be simpler to fasten," she muttered, trying and failing to close it. Just as Draco was about to offer his assistance, a voice rang out.
"Malfoy!"
Draco's head whipped in the direction of Blaise Zabini once again. Screaming every hex, jinx, and curse inside his own mind, Draco remained stock still as Blaise confidently strutted up to where Draco stood with Hermione. Blaise's date seemed quite forgotten as she trailed about 15 feet behind.
He stopped short of the pair, Draco pleased to note that he was still several inches taller than his old schoolmate. "Yes?" Draco asked shortly.
Blaise took a small step back and held his palms up in mock surrender. "No need to be so formal with an old friend, Malfoy. I simply wanted to invite you to the gala tonight."
"What gala?"
Blaise smirked. "My mother is ah, good friends with the composer from tonight's show. She's hosting a gala in his honor at our home this evening. You know what a stalwart patron she is of the fine arts."
More like she's trying to woo her tenth husband, Draco thought snidely.
"Perhaps another time, Zabini, I think we'll just be—"
"Look, Malfoy," Blaise took a conspiratorial step towards Draco but didn't trouble to lower his voice. "Finish up with whatever business you have going on here," his dark eyes slid over to Hermione, then back to Draco, "and then join the rest of us for a more exclusive experience tonight. I can introduce you to Cecilia's sister if you require a proper date for the evening."
Draco felt his blood boil. How dare this arrogant arse insult Hermione so callously, as if she weren't standing right next to Draco, hearing every word? Who did he think he was?
"And just what the hell is that supposed to mean, eh?" He hadn't meant to shout, and now the entire hall was looking at them, but Draco was deaf with rage.
Blaise stepped back and fixed him with a composed stare. "Whatever you like it to mean. I have to admit, even I didn't think you'd stoop this low to get your family's name back in society's good graces."
With a final smirk, he walked away but Draco moved to follow him.
"Malfoy don't!" Hermione's warning sounded like it came from far away, and he didn't slow in his pursuit of Blaise, who now had his back to Draco, swiftly putting distance between them.
"Malfoy! He's not worth it!" Her voice came again and this time he felt a light pressure in his left hand as she gripped it in her own.
He dipped his other hand into his robes and groped for his wand, when Hermione's hand tugged hard.
"Draco!"
It was hearing his name that stopped him cold. She'd never personally addressed him by his given name, not once since they first met as children. He turned to look down at her, and noticed her brows furrowed in concern, her eyes wide and pleading. "Draco," she repeated, her voice soothing now that she'd grabbed his attention. "Come on, let's go. It's all right, let's just leave."
He nodded mutely and removed his hand from the inner pocket of his robes, resisting the urge to curse Zabini off the planet. Draco allowed Hermione to tug him quickly by the hand through a side exit, away from the prying eyes of the rest of the crowd.
Once they were outside, Draco began a furious pace away from the opera house and the rest of the public. How dare Zabini accuse him of such untoward motives in regards to Hermione?! How dare he stand there in front of a war heroine and insult her like she couldn't hear him, as if she were too stupid to understand just how little a pureblood wizard like Zabini thought of her?!
Draco kept up his frantic stalking for a few blocks, towing Hermione along by the hand, muttering angrily under his breath the whole way. When she gently squeezed his hand, he slowed down a bit, and gulped in a slow, deep breath. In his stupor of fury he'd almost forgotten she was holding on to him.
He slowed down even more to a meandering stroll, as his anger gave way to shame. He'd completely acted the fool in front of Hermione, in front of an entire crowd of people, and she didn't deserve to have such a lousy end to her evening. He released a deep sigh, knowing he had to salvage this in some way.
"I'm so sorry, Granger. What Zabini said to you was completely out of line."
Hermione shrugged her shoulders and gave him a tight-lipped smile. "It was no more than I'd expect from him. I'm glad you didn't curse him."
"He would have deserved it," Draco replied gruffly. He stopped walking suddenly and pulled Hermione around to face him.
"Granger, what he implied about why I was with you tonight… I would never do that. I wouldn't use you like that. You know that, don't you?" He asked her desperately, begging her to understand the unsaid feelings in his voice.
She met his unwavering gaze with a steady one of her own. "If I thought that's all this was… I wouldn't be here with you tonight." Her voice was calm and controlled and Draco swallowed the question that rose to his throat: And what exactly is this? What are we, Granger?
"I'm sorry I ruined our evening," he offered quietly.
"You didn't," came her soft reply. He still felt the bitter sting of anger welling up inside, but the feeling of her thumb circling the skin of the back of his hand began to stir up other emotions. Their joined hands meant they stood awfully close.
"I think we could both do with a cup of tea. I can make us some, if you'd like?"
He nodded at her suggestion and she gripped his hand tighter and apparated them away. When they reappeared, she dropped his hand and he immediately missed the contact. Looking about when she started walking, he realized she'd apparated them into the same alley he appeared in each morning across from the coffee shop.
Hermione led him in the opposite direction, and Draco recalled that she'd walked back this way when he'd convinced her to take a sick day at home. Draco almost stopped walking. She was taking him to her home.
Almost as if she could hear his thoughts, she commented, "I live just a few blocks up here. This is the closest apparition point that isn't inside my home, but I don't think my wards would have let you through even with side-along apparition. Better safe than splinched."
Draco nodded and despite the light chill to the late evening, felt his cheeks heat up. He roughly yanked his bow tie off and stuffed it into his pocket and undid the top two buttons of his collared shirt beneath his cloak. Throat free of most restrictions, he still felt a sensation of a tightening grip: from his own inadequacy, his foolishness at rising to Blaise's bait, his inability to keep his temper in check in front of Hermione, and his weakness to her any request. He should absolutely not be following her home right now, but she could ask him to follow her into the depths of hell and he'd be powerless to resist.
Draco choked on a thousand apologies, each one sounding more feeble and ridiculous than the last in his head. I'm sorry I threw a public tantrum. I'm sorry you were associated with me at all. I'm sorry I don't know how to be a good man. I'm sorry that I can't stay away from you even when I know that you deserve so much more.
They moved in silence, the streets around them deserted and storefronts dark due to the late hour. Draco checked his watch and noted it was closing in on half-past 11. This is not an appropriate hour for you to be accompanying Granger into her home.
She came to a halt outside a handsome brick townhome at the end of a row of similar-looking abodes. "This is me," she said simply and pushed open a short iron gate at the end of a brick walk. Draco heard her muttering incantations under her breath to release the wards briefly to allow him through. She performed a series of taps with her wand to the front door and then it swung open.
He could turn around now. He could make a weak excuse and go home now. But Draco's feet kept taking steps after Hermione and before he knew it, his feet had led him right inside. The door clicked shut behind him and Hermione moved toward a winding staircase just to center-left.
"The downstairs level is mainly storage, I hardly ever come through here," she explained as Draco craned his neck to see a darkened room filled with neatly stacked bins and boxes in the distance past the stairs.
"I spend most of my time on the top two levels and the rooftop. The woman I bought the house from is a squib who works as a realtor. She sells to wizards and Muggles alike, and actually my next door neighbors are an elderly witch and wizard. They're on holiday at the moment, visiting their daughter in America."
Her voice sounded even and calm as she led him up the stairs to a landing and another door, but Draco knew she was slightly nervous by the way she babbled. It wasn't so much the tone of voice as the amount of spurious information she felt the need to expel.
She removed a key for this door and Draco followed his traitorous feet into the main level of her home. As the door closed behind him, he leant back against it, unsure of what to do with his body. Hermione walked a few paces ahead, setting her beaded bag and wand down on a small hallway table and moving to unfasten her cloak.
"You can hang your cloak and robes on the hooks by the door if you like, and I'll go put the kettle on," she called over her shoulder.
Draco obeyed her like an Imperius Curse. He shrugged out of his cloak and outer robes, hanging them carefully just to the left of the door. Still not knowing what to do with himself, he hung awkwardly back, keeping his body leaning against the door as if a Sticking Charm kept him in place.
Not twenty paces in front of him, Hermione still stood, engaged in an epic struggle with the silver closure of her shining cloak. The cloak was putting up quite the fight. She tugged and pulled and yanked at the neck, and Draco simply watched from behind, trying desperately to ignore his impulse to approach her.
Could she feel it too, now? An eerie silence descended and covered everything with a thick blanket of tension in the hall lit only by bright moonlight. There was nothing and no one to interrupt their evening now: no Blaise, no public, no superfluous entertainment, no painful reminders of their dark history rearing an ugly head at inopportune moments.
The resounding quiet was only broken by Hermione's frustrated mutterings as she continued to wage war with her cloak with her back to Draco. "Stupid, bloody thing… how did I ever manage this… should be a simpler way to just…" Hermione ranted to herself, fingers appearing to work furiously.
Draco pushed himself off the door and began a slow approach. At the sound of his dragon-hide shoes clicking against the hardwood flooring, Hermione completely stilled. He came to a cautious stop just behind her, standing so close that should she take but one step back, she'd be flush against his chest. Now the only sounds filling the deadened air around them were Hermione's short breaths; Draco could tell by the quickened rise and fall of her upper body that his proximity affected her, and it wasn't out of fear. It was anticipation.
Draco leaned down and put his lips just next to her ear. "Allow me," he murmured and felt her entire body quiver. He braced one hand delicately on her shoulder and reached his other long-fingered hand around her neck to take the clasp from between her fingertips. Her hands fell limply to her sides, as Draco deftly unhooked the fastening with but a simple maneuver of his thumb and forefinger.
The cloak fell away from her shoulders to pool between their feet but neither stooped to retrieve the garment. As the material slipped through his fingers, Draco's hand remained on Hermione's bare shoulder. She revolved slowly on the spot until they were face to face, her flesh warm and almost vibrating underneath his hand.
Hermione was so naturally beautiful when she confidently knew an answer, but when she was still in the discovery and questioning phase of learning, as she appeared now? She took Draco's breath away. He stared down into her wide eyes, mere inches from his own, and he saw all the uncertainty and disbelief she tried to sort through. It was as if she were searching for the logic behind some grand, mythic puzzle and the solution hid somewhere in Draco's eyes.
Draco slid the thumb of his hand on her shoulder slowly back and forth across her skin in a light dance, lost in the sensation of touching her. He flicked his eyes from her deep brown ones to the few wild curls that had managed to escape their owner's careful hair styling over the course of the evening. He reached his other hand up and gently pulled one of the pieces framing her face between his fingers, relishing in its impossible softness. He heard Hermione's breathing hitch in her throat, but Draco couldn't tear his gaze away from the lock he caressed, lightly pulling and threading it around his fingers.
"I can still… go… make tea?" She whispered breathlessly and Draco recognized it as the last warning, the last attempt to pull the brakes on this train, the final caution sign before careening off a cliff.
"No," he whispered back in reply, still focused on the curl between his fingers. "I don't think I need tea just now."
His eyes slid back to her face as the realization sunk into his soul. He wasn't heading uncontrollably toward a cliff at all. Draco had taken a running start some time ago, leapt straight off the cliff's edge, and he'd been falling and tumbling down through the air, completely unsupported for a long time now, with no plan to land on solid ground.
Her eyes no longer held a question, but rather, a challenge. Hermione had been the brave one all her life. Ever since Draco had known her from age 11, she'd run headlong into things if she believed hard enough in her cause. Sure, of her friends, she'd seemed to be the more cautious one because she took the time to think before acting, but once Hermione Granger set her sights on what she wanted, Draco knew nothing could stop her.
But this time? Draco saw that she was going to make him decide. Knowing her as he did now, all the conversations they'd had about the pressure she felt to be brave, be strong, be the one to make the choice… just once she was asking for someone else to step up and assume the role.
He could be that someone, right now.
Reluctantly, he let the lock of hair slip through his fingers. His hand came to rest at the edge of her jaw, while the other resumed its light pattern of circling on her shoulder. Draco's nerves felt aflame and he had no idea if the trembling throughout his body originated with him or with her. The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes and angled his head down were Hermione's eyelids fluttering shut in anticipation of his mouth finding hers.
Finally, Draco's lips connected softly with hers, increasing that swooping sensation in his stomach of diving unencumbered through the air by ten-fold. The feel of her lips pressing firmly back against his own soothed an ache deep within him; an ache for her touch and taste that he'd coveted for longer than he'd care to admit.
Their lips danced tentatively against one another; moving to an unknown rhythm as each participant sought to discover the shape of the other's mouth and how they fit together as one. Draco felt her supple lips parting underneath his, and he hesitantly pulled back for a brief pause to catch his breath.
Her eyes opened slowly to meet his searching gaze. Her stare became a pool of desire threatening to drown him and Draco's veins thrummed with the overwhelming feeling of her beneath his hands.
"Hermione," he breathed.
Her name was both question and answer. His salvation and his ruin. It left his mouth on an exhale and though he barely achieved a whisper, it was as if he'd shouted, shattering the silence of her moonlit hall.
The levee broke.
Hermione's hands went around his shoulders as she crushed her lips back to his. There was nothing delicate or tentative about these kisses, her mouth opened his immediately and Draco groaned as her tongue reached out to seek his own. Mouths adhered to one another, hurriedly sucking, tasting, and licking, and Draco could have kicked himself. How long could they have been doing this before tonight?
Kissing Hermione was clarity. His mind rendered blissfully blank, devoid of all second guessing and broody decision-making, as Draco lost himself in nothing but the feel of her heavenly lips bruising his. When had he pushed her up against the wall of the hallway? Or had she pulled them into this position?
While Draco kept his hands on her shoulder and the side of her face, Hermione's hands now moved everywhere. She began with his hair, tangling them in the fine strands that tickled the nape of his neck before moving upward and running them through his white-blond locks with abandon. Taking a cue from her, Draco mirrored her movements as she explored his body, letting her set the pace for their passionate journey, all the while snogging furiously.
He shoved his hands in her hair, thoroughly ruining her intricate bun, but the happy sigh he swallowed from her mouth indicated that she did not care one bit as his nails raked her scalp. He was not quite pressed up against her body, not wanting to scare her away with his already raging erection. He kept his hands tangled in her tresses, while she swept her hands down to his shoulders, seeming eager to discover more of him. She gripped his shoulders for a moment, then trailed her hands down to squeeze the muscles of his upper arms, then traced back up to his shoulders.
Draco reveled in the softness of her hair, the warm taste of her on his tongue, the little rapid breaths that escaped her mouth and traveled right down to the tips of his toes. As her hands caressed his chest, Draco finally gathered the courage to move his touch down her body as well. He began with feather-light touches to the sides of her face and neck, then gradually ran his hands down the length of her shoulders and skin of her arms, earning himself a shiver as he traced the skin up and down and back and forth several times.
Their kissing increased in urgency as Hermione frantically bunched the fabric of his dress shirt and yanked his body toward her. With nowhere to go but her, Draco found himself pressed flush against her and moaned at the contact. Their bodies molded together and Draco could feel her every curve against his taut physique, and the delicious way she squirmed against him indicated she was just as eager to feel his body.
Draco slid his hands boldly down her sides, where they came to rest at her hips, his large hands gripping them tightly. Hermione nipped at his lower lip and Draco had to break their kissing briefly to rest his forehead against hers while he caught his breath. She didn't let him take too long of break, whimpering as she captured his lips again.
She wasn't telling him to stop, and soon, he would need her to tell him. Because there was nothing to blame for their behavior right now: no alcohol in their systems, no potions, no charms, spells, or enchantments of any kind. They were a man and a woman, alone finally after months and months of dancing around this attraction, and they were at risk of being consumed.
But Hermione didn't tell him to stop. Of course, she didn't tell him anything because her tongue was so deep down his throat that speech on either of their parts was quite impossible at the moment. Draco let his hands wander up her sides, ghosting the sides of her breasts and was rewarded with an erotic little gasp from Hermione as she twitched her hips forward to grind against him, tightening her own grip around his neck. Draco repeated this grazing motion from her hips up to the side of her chest several times, and in but a few minutes had Hermione panting for breath as she tore her mouth away from him. Draco decided to take advantage of her need for air, and placed heated, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw and up to her ear. Every new part of her skin he tasted only served to ramp up his desire further.
When his lips moved down to her slender neck, he removed one hand from her side and braced it on the wall just beside her head. With Draco laving at her neck, Hermione panted harder and mumbled the most sinful-sounding noises between breaths. "Ohh… mmmm… yes… ohhh… mmm…"
He nipped lightly at her ear, eliciting more of those reactions from her, and his hand on her hip crept upwards again. This time, he didn't stop at her side, but finally traced over the front of her chest before giving a firm squeeze. As his hand caressed and kneaded her breast, his mouth kept working at her neck until:
"Ohhh Draco!"
Draco was eternally grateful that one of his hands had been braced against the wall because his knees buckled. Hermione's moaning of his name literally made him weak in the knees, and he tore his mouth away from her neck, gasping for air.
Fuck.
Come Monday, Draco was going to file a petition to some office at the Ministry, or perhaps take out an ad in every single newspaper, asserting that no one else in this galaxy was ever allowed to use his given name, ever again. The way Hermione drew out the vowels as she moaned ("Draaaaycohhh") was the only pronunciation he would accept from now on and only from her perfect mouth. Everyone else could address him as "Malfoy" or "That Blond Idiot" or honestly whatever they wanted, because nothing else mattered anymore but Hermione crying out his name in pleasure.
The woman writhing against him took advantage of his inability to draw in air, yanking his head toward her mouth and latching her lips to his neck in turn. Once he'd semi-recovered and could feel his legs again, Draco turned his head to claim her lips once more, their kisses taking on a new feverish urgency, and the roaming of their hands became unrestrained. She touched and groped every part of him, and Draco pressed her back so snugly against the wall he wondered if there'd be a Hermione-shaped dent when they eventually moved on.
Speaking of moving on, her small but insistent hands pushed at the shoulders of his suit jacket urging it down his arms and he briefly removed his hands from cupping her backside to shrug it off his body and fling it away from him. His waistcoat was next on her list, as her determined fingers made quick work of the buttons and he shrugged that piece off too. She pulled his face back to hers, and pressed a line of kisses from the light stubble of his jaw up to the shell of his ear, ending her path in a provocative whisper of "turnabout's fair play."
His eyes widened as she removed her hands from around his neck to reach up behind her hair. In one swift motion of her fingers, she'd unclasped her dress and pulled the high collar away from her neck. The fabric of her gown kept sliding down and down and down her body, until she nimbly stepped out of it and kicked it aside, now standing in front of Draco in nothing but a strapless bra and her knickers.
His throat released a sort of feral growl as he pushed her roughly back up to the wall, crushing his mouth and hips to hers. Both of their hands grabbed and fondled each other with wanton abandon, Draco luxuriating in the feel of both her breasts in his hands as she undulated against him and suckled at his bottom lip.
Hermione quickly dispatched him of his cuff links, he heard them drop against the hardwood floor and roll away. Her palms slid up his chest to the top buttons of his dress shirt, and she hastily worked her way down, untucking his shirt from his pants and coming dangerously close to touching his achingly hard cock. His shirt wide open now, and Hermione leant back slightly to admire the pale skin of his chest and abdomen. Licking her lips, she leant forward again and pressed open-mouthed kisses from just above his navel all the way to the column of his throat as Draco groaned and gripped her shoulders.
Now her determined hands tried to push his shirt from his back and arms, and Draco made to oblige her, but as the fabric fell from his shoulders, down his biceps, and her touch reached the bare skin of his elbows, he gasped and wrenched himself out of her grasp and stumbled away from her with a cry of "No!"
Fuck, what was wrong with him? How could he have forgotten?
Panting like a frightened animal he backed away blindly, before his lower back collided with the top of her sofa. "I don't want you to… to see … to see it," he stammered, out of breath as he came to a stop, leaning against the back of the couch. He clutched desperately at the fabric of his shirt still covering his left forearm, cognizant of the horrible image beneath the sleeve.
Draco's Dark Mark no longer glowed black or red as it had during Voldemort's reign. Once the wizard who'd branded him had died, the Mark immediately began to fade, all magic gone from the ugliness on his arm, but that skull and snake shape remained. It kept fading with time, and was now a faint outline in an unhealthy, gray hue, and though no longer so stark against his pale skin, it was noticeable nonetheless.
Draco knew he wouldn't be able to handle the sight of Hermione seeing it, of her looking at him in disgust, as was her right. He was tainted, evil, and completely unworthy of a pure soul like her. It would break his whole being in half to witness this woman, who had come to mean so much to him, recoil from him in distaste and horror. For a brief time in his life, for this past year, Hermione had made him feel whole again. She'd treated him kindly, she'd appreciated his thoughts and feelings, made him laugh, made him feel as if he did in fact have something to offer the rest of the world.
Draco looked up to drink in the sight of her one last time. She was still against the wall, breathing hard. Her previously neatly coiffed hair, wild and free once again, tumbled down in bunches of curls and ghosted past the tops of her shoulders. Her plump lips full and swollen, lipstick long gone, and some of her mascara smudged under one eye. He trailed his gaze down the rest of her body; her bra askew from their passionate handling of one another, one cup pulled down so that one of her nipples peeked out over the top, and her lacy black knickers bunched at the front where they'd been grinding their bodies together. He'd never seen a more beautiful woman in his entire life.
She could never be his.
He looked away as his chest ached with every sharp breath he took. She was a virtuous, wonderful beam of light in this terrifying world and he had no business existing in her presence. He heard Hermione clear her throat and softly pad barefoot toward him, but he refused to look up. Draco knew exactly what was coming, could predict just how she would let him down: "Malfoy, I think we got slightly carried away just now, and I think it might be best if you leave. I'll see you Monday for coffee?" And Draco would nod and agree because she was right, of course, because Hermione Granger was always right. He'd silently gather up his dignity and clothes and go home to his empty manor, drink himself stupid, and spend the rest of the weekend wallowing. Come Monday, she'd be distantly polite, determined to ignore what had passed between them. She'd pull further and further away from him, until eventually they'd be strangers to each other once more, and then one day she would stop showing up. She'd exit his life forever and it would be best for him to accept that now.
She came to a stop just in front of him, but he still kept his gaze averted. He could smell that intoxicating floral scent coming off her in waves and with each deep, ragged inhale of breath he vowed to commit that smell to memory.
"Malfoy," she called softly and Draco squeezed his eyes shut. He was unable, unworthy, to look upon her, a coward to the last. He almost flinched at the way she'd already reverted back to calling him by his surname.
She took another step toward him and was right up in his personal space. Draco continued to lean numbly against the couch, his right arm keeping a tight grasp on his covered left arm. Gentle hands cupped his face and he fought the urge to cry, her soft hands so comforting and tender against his skin. Another kindness he did not deserve.
"Malfoy, please. Look at me."
He obeyed her instantly and how could he not? She'd had control of his every action and decision for a while now, a power over him he didn't care to fight. Her eyes offered warmth and understanding, not imbued with the harsh judgment he'd expected to find. Still, she was nothing if not empathetic, and she'd make sure to deal the killing blow swiftly and kindly. He braced himself for her gentle but firm rejection.
Hermione got up on her tip toes and pressed her lips against his cheek. A goodbye kiss. One for the road. She placed another lingering kiss to his other cheek. Then her lips moved to the exposed column of his throat, beginning at just beneath one ear and moving slowly under his jaw to the other side. This felt less like a farewell…
He felt her tug his shirt back up over his shoulders and button it up again. "It's all right. You can keep it on if you'd like," she murmured soothingly as she buttoned all the way up his chest, only leaving the top two undone. Hermione then pressed her palms flat against his chest and looked into his eyes again. Her hands slid down his front, stopped momentarily at his abdomen, and came to rest at the top of his belt buckle.
What the fuck was going on? What alternate universe was he in right now?
Keeping her hands at the belt at his waist, Hermione rose up onto her toes again and put her mouth against his ear. "Your shirt is not the article of clothing I need you to remove right now," she whispered and all of his blood rushed south.
She pulled back with a smirk to rival his own on his snarkiest day, and Draco gulped as her hands worked at his belt. He froze as she tugged it out of the loops, and dropped it unceremoniously to the floor. His heart raced as she flicked open the button of his trousers, then unzipped them and swiftly tugged them down. Wordlessly, he stepped out of them, and Hermione launched herself at him, resuming their frantic kissing as if there hadn't just been an emotional interruption to the evening's steamy proceedings. All thoughts of his ghastly Dark Mark gone, Draco threw himself back into kissing the witch in his arms. She suddenly reached down a hand in between them to palm his erection and Draco had to break their kiss to let out a sharp hiss of breath. She rubbed the length of him through his boxers before reaching beneath his waist band to pump his member. Draco's head lolled forward to rest atop her shoulder as he let himself get lost in the sensation of Hermione's hand wrapped around his cock.
He needed to take control now if he had any hope of lasting much longer. Draco took her wrist and pried her hand from him, groaning as she gave one last tug before allowing him to remove her hand. Mouths and bodies melded together once more, and Hermione pulled him backwards. He let her lead him along, their feverish kissing never ceasing as they made clumsy progress further into her home.
She led him through a doorway and Draco pressed her up against the wall of what he realized was her bedroom. Hermione clawed at the skin of his chest underneath his buttoned shirt while she rolled her hips rhythmically against his and he drove his tongue further into her mouth. He pulled away briefly and whipped his shirt over his head, no longer giving a damn about his forearm, since Hermione was sufficiently distracted by the rest of his body anyway.
She answered in kind by unclasping her bra and letting it fall away. Draco gave her a hungry look up and down, then pinned her to the wall again, alternating between attacking her mouth and neck. She moaned loudly in his ear as they rubbed against each other, with nothing but their underwear between them now. Draco planted kiss after kiss down her neck as her fingers grasped at his back, and he began working his mouth down to her bare tits. He circled one nipple teasingly with his tongue and felt her hips buck against him. He took the other breast in his hand and worked that nipple between his fingers, and heard her breaths quicken as she whimpered under his ministrations. He kissed his way back up the middle of her chest to capture her mouth while still kneading at her breast. Draco circled her taut nipple for a few more minutes, working her into a lustful frenzy before slowly tracing his hand down across her stomach and stopping just above the top of her knickers.
His hand remained there for but a moment before dipping just inside and stopping once more. Draco pulled back from kissing her to lock eyes.
"Is this all right?" he asked seriously, making sure he had permission to touch her in her most intimate place.
"Yes, please," she whispered breathily and he kissed her fiercely as his hand moved lower. When his fingers finally reached their destination at the apex of her thighs and he could feel the wetness already accumulated there, they both moaned simultaneously. Draco dragged a finger along her slit, relishing in the moisture there, and Hermione had to break their kissing to gulp in oxygen desperately. He could tell he was already making her come undone with just the briefest brushes of his fingertips. Draco wondered if it had been as long for her as it had for him since she'd felt another person touch her in this way.
When he slipped one long finger inside her, she gasped and threw her head back so hard against the wall Draco wanted to ask if she'd hurt herself, but she silenced him with another kiss.
Gods, she felt perfectly tight and ready for him, and he reveled in the way her walls clenched and pulsed around his finger. He slid it in and out of her, going slow at first before speeding up the pace, all the while worshipping her neck with his tongue and stroking her breast with his free hand. As her moans became more frantic, he inserted another finger and quickened his movements within her, trying to match his speed with the thrusts of her hips. When his thumb flicked at her clit, she cried out and attached her mouth to his shoulder, sucking and biting at the pale skin there. Her nails dug so hard into his back that Draco was certain there would be ten little red marks there tomorrow, not that he minded at all. It thrilled him to be giving her this level of pleasure.
His thumb barely brushed against her clit again and he earned another whimper. She was so close, he could feel it, and the thought that he was about to make Hermione come by his hand alone made his cock impossibly stiff. He pumped his fingers faster, enjoying how her hips moved in time before her movements began to jerk uncontrollably as she fucked his hand. He stopped teasing her clit and circled it vigorously now with his thumb and a few moments later she rode out her orgasm with a cry of "Draco! Yes! Oh gods Draco, yes!"
Draco preened internally at the exclamation of his name falling from her lips in ecstasy and swallowed her cries with his own lips, his fingers slowing their ministrations as she came down from her orgasm. Breathing heavily, she leaned her forehead against his and smiled, then gave him slow, sensual kisses while he delicately pulled his hand from her knickers.
Though the kisses were languid now, Hermione seemed to still want release with him. None too gently, she shoved him off of her and pushed him backwards until his legs hit her bed and he sat down on the edge of her mattress. The look she gave him could only be described as predatory as she leaned down to kiss him deeply.
"Scoot up," she whispered, motioning for Draco to move up the bed. He complied and his mouth went dry as Hermione bent down to remove her knickers and kicked them away. Draco shimmied his boxers off in turn, discarding them to the floor. Hermione crawled up the bed toward him, her brown hair falling like a curtain around their faces as she leaned over his body to claim his lips. As she made to straddle his hips, Draco grabbed her wrist to stop her.
"Wait!"
She looked up at him in surprise, and he tried not to appear frightened or nervous as he met her gaze. They could stop this right now, and Hermione could still have her dignity intact, if she wanted. But before they went any further Draco had to know, had to be absolutely sure, that she wouldn't regret being intimate.
"Is this all right? I mean, is this what you want? With me?"
What was it about this woman that made him feel so vulnerable, so open? He cursed himself for the rare self-conscious tone of his voice, but Draco couldn't screw this moment up. If Hermione rejected him after the fact, Draco wasn't sure how he'd recover. Better to cut this off now before shame set in and she hated him in the morning.
Hermione's gaze softened and before she answered him, she wrapped her hand around his erection and stroked up and down several times, causing Draco to throw his head back and bite his lip. "Yes. I'm sure." He heard her murmur and as he opened his eyes, was greeted with the most perfect vision of Hermione lowering herself onto his cock. They both groaned as they joined together, Hermione letting her head fall back. Draco brought his hands to her hips as she tentatively moved up and down, exploring how their bodies fit together. Draco savored the way her tits bounced lightly as she slid up and down astride him, her mouth falling open in a silent, round shape as he filled her tight passage. Once she seemed more comfortable with him inside her, Draco moved his own hips up to meet her thrusts. He gripped one side tightly and as she found a steady rhythm, and reached his other hand up to palm and tease her breast. Hermione's hands came forward to rest on his shoulders, and she used her newfound leverage to move faster up and down his length.
Draco remembered dimly that Hermione mentioned her neighbors were traveling, and thanked the stars for that because the sounds coming out of both their mouths were uninhibited and extremely loud. Hermione worked herself on top of him at a furious pace and Draco removed his hand from her breast to hold tighter to both her hips. She slammed down on him more erratically now and Draco dug his fingers into her sides to help control her movements. The thought of her coming on top of him was almost enough to send him over the edge, but he wanted to get her off first.
Seeing as she was much more comfortable riding him frantically, he bucked his hips harder, sending his member deeper inside her, and she moaned wantonly in encouragement. Hermione leaned down for a deep kiss, pushing his mouth open with a forceful prod of her tongue, before breaking the kiss and sitting up straight. Draco increased the pace again to match hers, both of them with a sheen of sweat forming across their foreheads as they panted with the effort of their lovemaking. Hermione's limbs trembled, and Draco knew he had her then. She threw her head back, her sheet of hair flying behind her, and Draco marveled at the way her bare skin glowed in the moonlight. Gods, he'd fantasized about her like this for months and none of his imaginings had even come close to the reality of her fucking him into her own mattress.
She was screaming his name again. "Draco! Draco! Yes! Draco!"
He was a goner after that. Finishing off her orgasm with incoherent mumbling, Hermione slumped forward onto his chest, tangling her hands in his hair while still moving her hips for him. A few hard and punishing thrusts was all it took and Draco saw stars behind his eyes as he came inside her. He may have mumbled "Hermione!" into her hair as she lay on top of him, but he wasn't confident the noise that exited his mouth was any recognizable human language.
Breathing hard and thoroughly sated, Draco brought his arms around Hermione's frame and held her to his chest, not wanting their physical contact to end yet. They stayed like that for a few minutes before Hermione reached her hands up to push her hair off both their faces. She pressed a chaste kiss to the top of his shoulder and then the side of his neck before gingerly rolling off him and laying down next to him.
Summoning the little courage he possessed, and still chasing the high from post-coital bliss, he turned on his side to face Hermione. She met his gaze with a shy smile of her own, and he grinned in return.
She hesitated a moment, then leaned forward to meet his lips in another brief kiss. Pulling away she whispered "Be back in a minute," then rolled out of bed and walked to the adjoining bathroom. Draco gave her nude form an appreciative stare as she padded across the room, admiring the shape of her backside.
He flung himself back into her pillows with a contented sigh and shivered a bit without her warm body next to his. Taking it as a positive sign that she hadn't immediately kicked him out of her home, Draco decided to make himself a little more comfortable while he waited for her to return. Knowing Hermione, she'd probably want to discuss what had just happened between them. Draco pulled the covers up around his naked body and tried to fight the tiredness creeping into his bones. But it was a losing battle, and in a matter of seconds, he was out cold.
A/N: Thank you all for your patience and continued support. Next update in a few days :)