There was no beginning.
No identifiable moment that Hermione could pinpoint and say with any degree of certainty that this was it.
Their initial singularity.
The chaotic moment between the end of nothing and the creation of everything, when the universe itself was exploding into existence—creating time, space, and the perfect conditions for intermingling lives. The one instant that made it possible for her and Draco to simply coalesce into existence.
Simpler in its conception and execution, more natural than anyone would think given their past and present. By the time everything had settled from their quiet collision, they had already been formed—put together particle by particle in the spaces between moments, above exchanges, and beneath looks, solidified from the dust of possibility.
It began with a cool yet polite exchange at one of Hermione's charity events that led to an invitation for coffee and more conversation that never stopped, only pausing between each interaction over time.
Each meeting occurred in the most obscure shops and restaurants where no one knew them. Every walk was in a different park with conversation that usually dissolved into arguing, but mostly ended in compromises. Each gala or event kept them circumnavigating the room in different directions until one found the other, their eyes locking and holding before they continued on like planets just outside each other's orbit.
Close enough to feel the pull of gravity on each pass, to exchange energy through each stolen moment, but never collide. No hellos or goodbyes exchanged, only moments of verbalised thoughts and quiet truths laced in mundane stories about their pasts and present.
Gradually, slowly, everything became more.
More in the form of a rushed feeling of thrill and excitement that hung in the air around Hermione whenever he approached—less when he left. The way she felt in his presence, bright and alive, even when they argued. More in the silent moments where Draco huffed impatiently while she debated between two books, the way he would smile when she ultimately decided to buy both. The way he watched her with heat in his eyes, quietly appreciating her stubborn tenacity. And even more in the way Hermione would catch him peeking over the top of his book while she diligently worked on her daily crosswords.
What was an eight-letter word for wanting to know or learn about something or someone?
Interest.
It was there.
Understated and unspoken, it charged every moment alone together with potential, fuelling every look with a meaning neither could quite understand.
But her ignorance didn't last long.
Of course, Hermione paid little attention to her heart that first year as their universe of friendship formed from clumps of matter and energy.
She forced down the swelling emotions through the second year as their relationship expanded into other galaxies that included their friends. Hermione found a fast friendship in Pansy that only blossomed further when she and Harry started making eyes at each other.
Hermione even tried to squash her feelings during the third year so that they didn't interfere with what had become almost as integral to her well-being as her bond with Harry and Ron—despite the glaring difference in quiet but fierce affection.
Draco was different; he was still an irritating prat, but was humbled by war and complicated by the aftermath. He was reserved when he had to be but not when it came to any sort of argument in which he'd decided he was right. Though slow to smile, he had an infectious laugh Hermione had heard only once when they'd all had too much elf-made wine on New Year's Eve.
She'd committed the laugh to memory even though she didn't remember much else about the night.
To no one's surprise, Draco was still every bit a prideful Malfoy—but also not. A picky man who was a challenge, a question, and a solution rolled into one. He became a sounding board for her ideas and a benefactor for the charity she ran—both without asking or questioning. But what Hermione liked best was despite the fact that he was cagey; Draco had moments of brutal honesty… but only with her.
Especially with her.
It was in those moments when he spoke his mind, was open and at ease in her presence, that Hermione found herself wondering if there was—well, it didn't matter.
There was something else about Draco that complicated everything. Something that coated each moment alone with reminders of why Hermione would always remain in stasis. Why she had to let her feelings for him go. Why they would never work.
Draco was a man in the middle of a stormy divorce.
One that had started a year before their friendship and had been going on just as long as his actual marriage had lasted. And with the Malfoy fortune at stake, there appeared to be no end in sight. Astoria wanted half and contested the validity of their marriage contract in every court she could find that would listen to the case. The battle had been news since his initial filing; stories full of speculation had been in the papers since the start, the rumours fierce and enduring.
They didn't paint Draco in the best light.
Nothing he wasn't used to.
Still, Draco kept up his public persona of calm indifference, knowing just how closely all of his actions were being watched. However, more and more in that third year of Hermione quietly wanting more than friendship, he showed her the open wounds that had been festering since the end of his marriage, the bitterness he'd carried in silence, and the discontent that was only temporarily relieved in her presence during the quiet spaces in between the chaos of his life.
There were moments when Draco would watch her think and work, read and cook, offering his company, assistance, and whatever else she wanted, which was never anything more than he could give. Hermione never required more than that.
It was beautiful how the universe worked. Outside all their expanding and contracting, they were still able to find peace, happiness, and beauty in small moments. How their silent exchanges became a natural balm that soothed his burns and frayed nerves, recharged him before each court battle, and helped him recover after each impasse reached.
Had she not been so busy suppressing her own feelings, Hermione would have seen his develop from dust and gas after the inevitable collision of planets and the formation of stars.
When Draco kissed her for the first time, it was long enough for her to commit to memory the taste of him but short enough to make her crave more.
He then apologised and left.
When he returned five minutes later, visibly frazzled (and found her in a similar state) he kissed her a second time and stayed.
But only because Hermione wouldn't let him go.
Hermione gripped his shirt like it was the only thing keeping them both rooted to Earth, kissing him like it was the only thing that had ever mattered. Like it was the last time as well as the first.
But then there was a purposeful pause in time and breath when Draco looked at her with thorough contemplation. A moment when he searched all over, calculating risk versus reward before deeming her worth it by dipping his head, covering her mouth with his again, closing his arms around her, kissing Hermione with slow reverence—deep but just a little frantic.
No apologies. Just honesty in touch and nonverbal communication, getting their fill of the other.
And after three years of wanting him, Hermione now knew that nothing short of all of him would suffice. Draco was an experience. Undefinable. And as her universe had expanded with each kiss that followed, it simultaneously contracted to the point where Hermione found herself needing more particles of him to fill the gaps.
When the heat intensified, when they started pulling on each other's clothes, Hermione spaced her kisses until they stopped, resting her forehead against his.
Then came the argument.
Words like obligation, divorce, and bad timing flew from their mouths, but they held on as they fought, negotiated, and came to an agreement. She made Draco see reason, reminding him that he had too much on the line, too much to lose from a public relationship in the middle of a messy divorce… and very little to gain.
He tried to argue to the contrary, but she had more patience than either of them had sense.
So they waited.
And waited.
Six months passed.
Then a year.
There were rules. No public interactions, even around their highly suspicious friends. They kept their words of affection to themselves. No kissing after that first day, not even in private, and especially no sex. Nothing that could be used against him through the sharing of memories or Veritaserum.
But having Draco in everything but name, without being able to acknowledge him or do anything about it, made the previous three years of wanting him look easy. It was hard to be close yet so far, hard to be near him when she wanted so much more. But Hermione persisted. Taking what she could get, giving what she could give, all the while falling deeper in love through an intimacy that didn't involve sex. Just communication that led to a more organic understanding and a moment-by-moment awareness that had no ending or beginning.
They created their own universe in her home. A place in the corner of the cosmos that belonged to just them—one of freedom and expression. It wasn't perfect but neither were they. No human ever was. They still argued. Still got frustrated with each other and their situation. They still pushed and pulled. There was heartache and joy, purpose and questioning, but through it all, a deep magic and a bond that was alive and unbreakable.
Draco quickly stopped sharing the progression of his case, which frustrated Hermione endlessly, but she kept quiet, holding his hand in private—the only lingering contact they allowed themselves. They curled their fingers around each other's with each setback he never explained, but celebrated each victory by pressing their foreheads together, staring into each other's eyes, trying to express everything they wished they were allowed to say.
From one breath to the next.
Soon, she would whisper when they were both weary and felt defeated.
Soon, Draco would repeat before putting on his mask to face the world.
And with her at his side, Draco pushed harder and harder for resolution until he stepped out of the fireplace exactly thirteen months after their second kiss with an enchanted parchment in his hand that glowed almost as bright as the relief on his face.
"It's done. Finalised." Draco brandished the parchment, holding it out to her. Eyes locked on it, Hermione stood, the task of balancing her charity's Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts jumbled together, everything forgotten as her heart raced in her chest. A disbelieving silence thundered between them, one that Draco filled with words. "It'll be in the papers by morning."
Hermione took in the signatures and official Ministry seal, studious eyes scanning every word of the divorce decree. Her heart was in her throat, fresh tears in her eyes, and for the life of her, she couldn't stop her legs from trembling under her, couldn't calm the churning storm in her belly.
It was over. Done. Finally.
They were free.
She looked up from the parchment. "How did you—"
"I gave her what she wanted. I nullified our marriage contract and gave her half." Hermione's wet eyes bugged and Draco scrubbed the back of his neck with his hand.
When she tried to speak, though, the words escaped her from the sheer shock of him giving up what he'd been fighting for years to keep. "Why would you—"
"The deal's been done for months now. Exactly thirteen months, to be specific. Negotiation takes time, splitting assets takes longer, and the final approval from the Wizengamot took far more time than I anticipated."
Realisation dawned on her like a cold sun. "You mean, since… why would you do that?"
"My freedom is more than worth it… and so are you."
The determination on his face and emotion in his voice spoke of the countless times Draco would make the same decision over again if it meant he ended with the same results. Results that brought him to this moment.
With her.
Parchment dropped and forgotten on her desk, Hermione touched Draco's face, allowing them both a moment to close the once forbidden gap between them. Eager hands were on her waist, his forehead on hers, voice soft but full of resolve. "I'm ready to start a new chapter."
You.
Hermione considered requesting that they let the shock of the news settle before making their next move, but she didn't.
Wouldn't.
Couldn't.
It might have been the sound of his voice, hushed and deep as he whispered her name with the same reverence he'd kissed her with thirteen months before. It might have been Draco's eyes, how they were steady yet weary, staring with nothing to hide. Perhaps it was the combination of all their moments and silences. The stress and struggle. Months and years of patience and the intangible things beyond Hermione's all-encompassing comprehension of love and loving.
And how she was ready to do both.
Completely.
The singularity that made her move remained undefinable. Transcendent. But what she did know—much like the motion of the galaxy—was the hammering of her heart inside her ribcage couldn't be controlled or contained.
It wanted out.
And Hermione did so by drawing him in for a kiss that lingered and deepened as he stepped closer, wanting more than they'd ever allowed themselves before. There was freedom and time; they both knew it, revelled in it, but still it was a race that ended with their clothes pooled on the floor around their feet in her bedroom.
Then there was just flesh. No impediments or shyness, only something akin to appreciation as they studied each other more intimately by touch. Draco turned her around, pressing his bare but scarred chest flush against her back as he took his time holding her, breathing her in, grounding himself to the moment.
He started touching her, running his hands down her arms, moving to her stomach and back up, cupping her in all the ways that weren't right or proper before that moment. Hermione shut her eyes and allowed the sensations and heat to flood her system. His touch was overwhelming and vast, full of promise and affection and barely restrained need and want.
For a moment, a bit of worry that always came with uncharted territory flitted through Hermione's head, but Draco touched her chin, turning her head so she was looking back over her shoulder, and kissed her until her thoughts were only on him.
Them.
When his lips left hers, Hermione next felt them on her shoulder and she shuddered at the warmth of his touch. Draco kissed her again and again, pushing her hair aside to press his mouth behind her ear, running it down the side of her neck to her collarbone. Over to the back of her neck. Up to her hairline then down the length of her spine, exploring her.
Draco then sat on the bed and drew her to him.
Closer.
Hermione wanted nothing more or less than to be with him as completely as one person could be with another. She didn't want foreplay, didn't want anything but him inside of her, wanted to relish the moment of being filled and possessed. She'd been waiting not for days, not weeks, not months, but years. They both had been, and Draco obliged her silent request, not because he wanted to, but because he had to. They were too hungry for each other. Starved to the point of carelessness. Too patient for too long.
This was their time.
The first of many.
Hermione straddled Draco's hips and pulled him closer. Without a word, she held his face so he couldn't look away, adjusting and moving her hips until she felt him right where she wanted him, watching him as she sank. Through the stretch and burn and desire to shut her own eyes to savour the moment, Hermione watched Draco's every expression, loving the utter abandon on his face and the widening of his grey eyes as he was enveloped in her.
There were thousands of metaphors and ways to express the moment when two become one, but none quite fit the feel of him filling every part of her. It was perfect. Both groaned at the new sensation of wet heat and gentle pressure, the tight fit, the emotions coming from the other. The newness. The adjustment. The pleasure. The trembling of his body and the breath she held until he was buried to the hilt.
Moments passed before Draco kissed her deeply, voice thick when he said, "I need to—"
Move.
"Yes," she moaned into his mouth as she rose up and sank down. Once. Twice. Listening to his punching breath that escaped him on the third. Draco's trembling hands gripped her hips and her hand curled against his neck, touching the fine blond hairs there as she pulled up, changed her angle, and sank down at the same time Draco surged up, her body accepting the first deep thrust like it was made for it.
And it was made for everything he had to give. Made to adapt and accommodate. To be touched in the deepest places. To be owned. And when Hermione moaned "Yes," again and again, Draco slid one hand up, coiling it around her back, and pulled their hips sharply together.
The rhythm was intense and tantalising for them both. Too slow but happening too fast. A stamina that wasn't meant to last. Draco was the first to lose patience, rolling them over before she could protest and pushing back in. He didn't need permission for the speed he set.
His lips brushed against hers repeatedly and Hermione could hear him, hear the sound of their bodies and his murmured words that she didn't understand. It didn't matter. All that mattered was how Draco felt in her arms, how he drew her in, even beneath him she was drawn. Hermione arched up to feel every part of him, her body thirsty for the moment, parched with love and affection that seemed endless.
Without boundary.
He was holding her tight, rocking, almost straining in his attempt to hold back with Hermione's hand tangled in his hair, the other caressing his face, eyes on him when she whispered her question against his lips. "Do you love me?"
"You know—" he managed before he actually couldn't say any more. Draco kissed her instead, held her close and hid his face pressed tight to her neck. "I do," he whispered against her neck. "I have for years." And then he was moving again. "I always will."
From that moment on, Hermione belonged to the moment and there was nothing else except the pleasure and emotions that overwhelmed her in that instant. Each thrust was a little less gentle than the one that preceded it. And soon they were teetering, plastered together with mutual sweat, gliding against each other, moving to the harsh pace they'd worked themselves into.
She wanted more.
They both did, but she couldn't hold out another minute. Each moment building to something truly intense. Hermione found herself gnawing on his shoulder, gripping him so tightly that their movements became a mutual shuddering. She was close and so was he. Every plaintive noise Draco made that joined hers sent shivers down her body. And then his rhythm stuttered and stalled, he tried to unlock their kiss to warn her, but Hermione wanted to feel it.
Feel him.
"Yes."
"Fuck."
Every fibre of her body went taut at the single word, gripping him, holding his head firm as he made his strokes hard. Deep. Draco stuttered and tensed as he bottomed out once. Twice. Three times before Hermione felt more than heard when he topped over. But he didn't stop, kept going, helping her to her own orgasm that was long and rolling and truly devastating, a drawn out sensation that faded into a pulsing quiet that they both shared.
Several long minutes passed before Draco rolled off and onto the bed next to her, both breathing heavily. He was eager, kissing her again, smiling as he whispered the depth of his affection against her lips and skin. Hermione grinned back, happy and content with thoughts of a future that had just begun.
Maybe this was their singularity.
Not the first or last between them, just another in a sequence of moments that had been preceded by nothing and followed by creation itself…
A beginning.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of JK Rowling. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: This little one was written for my beta, dreamsofdramione, who puts up with my shit and is celebrating her birthday. Happy birthday! Surprise! Thanks to my betas floorcoaster and disenchantedGlow and to CNova for the banner. And pretty much thanks to all my pre-readers who stopped me from yeeting this in the trash.