A/N:*ahem* oh hello. It's been a hot minute lol. Listen, I admit to nothing, but there were some fests that came out, and my arm was twisted justtttt a little. I had to place this on hold for a bit, BUT IM BACK. Ready to continue this fun af story.
AlphaBeta love to my wonderful FaeOrabel! and lots of Alpha love to WordSmithMusings, y'all are seriously the best.
Chapter Ten: Happy Christmas, Draco
Draco's Christmas morning started with a throbbing headache. It wasn't entirely his own fault he had one, though. His accomplice, an empty bottle of firewhiskey, sat next to his bed just below where his arm dangled off the edge. With a groan, he sat up and pressed his hand over his eyes to quell the pounding behind them. He would need one hell of an Invigoration Draught to get through the day.
Once the pain subsided enough for him to bear the candlelight of his room, Draco slowly cracked open his eyes and sighed at the sight before him. A small stack of presents sat on the floor next to his bed; a handful of wrapped boxes and a letter from his mother. Deciding to get the pain of his estranged mother over with, he opened her letter first. The parchment was crisp and white, and it was thick with all the missed things she needed to tell him.
Damn the Ministry for barring contact with her. Draco desperately wished he could see her today, but knew the moment anyone found out he went to the Malfoy home in Paris, he would be thrown in a cell in the pits of Azkaban. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes as he slid out the stack of parchment from the envelope; it was at least ten pages thick, as were all her letters. Draco quickly wiped away the stray tears that threatened to drop, lest they blot the ink, and opened to the first page.
Draco,
Happy Christmas, my love. I hope the current school year has treated you well. I read that Miss Granger joined the ranks as the new Transfiguration Professor, I trust that she isn't making your job too hard, nor you hers. As for me, since my last letter on your birthday, I recently refurbished the downstairs foyer. Oh, I wished you could have seen it, Draco. Your father would have been in such a state...
An hour later, Draco lay sprawled on his bed, the pages marked with his mother's elegant handwriting lovingly placed on his bedside table as he finished the final few sentences.
Happy Christmas, Draco. When you see your father today, please give him my best.
I miss you both so much.
Love,
Mother
Tears streamed freely from the corners of his eyes as he set the last pages back with the rest, and he hastily wiped them away. Draco blamed the remnants of the alcohol in his system for his overly emotional state. Receiving these letters was nothing new, so why did they pain him more than they had previously? He hoped she liked the pair of sapphire earrings he sent her, though he knew they were nothing in comparison to spending the holidays with her.
Sighing, Draco sat up and grabbed one of the presents. It was a shoddily wrapped box, and the chicken scrawl on the note confirmed that it was from Hagrid. Ripping into the paper with about as much care as the half-giant wrapped it, his breath caught at the item inside.
It was a wooden dragon—an Antipodean Opaleye to be exact—whittled in mid-flight, it's wings outstretched as it soared. Draco held it in his palm to inspect the craftsmanship and jolted in surprise when the dragon sprung to life and jumped from his grasp to fly around the room. It took two laps before it came to rest back in his hand and resumed its rigid demeanour.
Draco couldn't help himself; a broad grin broke over his face.
Carefully setting the statue atop his mother's letter, he pulled another package from the pile; this one from Harry and Blaise. Inside were two bottles of what Draco knew to be very expensive wine. There was also an envelope hidden amongst the wrappings and Draco opened it to discover a letter from Harry.
The wine was from Blaise, and this is from me.
Figured you could use a friend.
Happy Christmas, Harry
Attached to the note was a voucher for the Magical Menagerie for one pet, sized five pounds or smaller.
Draco chucked it back into the box with a scowl. Leave it to Potter to get him something as useless as this. He certainly did not need a pet; he was perfectly happy without one. There was absolutely no way in hell he wanted the responsibility of caring for something.
The rest of the presents were rational, thankfully. An engraved cauldron stirrer from Neville with the Slytherin crest stamped into the handle, and a matching mortar and pestle from Susan. McGonagall sent him her usual present of his favourite candy, Chocolate Wands, as she did every year.
There was one present left, and Draco had no clue who it was from. It was a large flat box, wrapped in beautiful dark red paper. It almost pained him to rip it, but he did, curiosity getting the better of him. A note sat inside with only a few words.
Happy Christmas, Draco.
Love, Pansy
Draco's stomach instantly dropped. Why did Pansy send him a gift? And what, exactly, could the gift be? With only one way to find out, he lifted the lid, and his heart stopped beating.
They were beautiful—the most beautiful pair of shoes he had ever seen.
And they were for him.
Dark emerald leather oxfords sat gleaming against the red paper. The black stitching and laces popped against the green fabric, but it was the gold metal snake curled around the shoe that caught Draco's eye.
They perfectly matched the heels he had purchased for Hermione.
Gently picking them up, he traced the snake and the stitching with a delicate touch. They were beautifully crafted, and his exact size. How did Pansy manage to make these in one night?
Oh, he was going to buy that witch whatever the hell she wanted in return.
Emotions from his mother's letter pushed aside from his new shoes, Draco swung out of bed and hurried to get dressed so he could wear them.
Twenty minutes later, after raiding his entire wardrobe for the perfect outfit, Draco sauntered to the Great Hall for Christmas breakfast. He downed an Invigoration Draught on the way, the pounding in his head now but a distant memory. The shoes clipped beautifully against the ground as he walked, and he couldn't stop the shit-eating smirk that graced his face at the sound.
"Morning, Happy Christmas," He greeted various students that sat at their tables, still bleary-eyed as they stared at their food. Draco was always surprised by the number of students that stayed at Hogwarts for the holiday break. The few times he had stayed, aside from the Yule Ball, it was sparse with only a handful of his peers remaining. Now, there were always at least fifty from each house, and it unnerved him—he knew most didn't stay by choice.
"Draco! Happy Christmas," Hagrid greeted from his place at the faculty table. "Got yer gift. Did you make the potion yerself?"
With a self-important smirk, Draco sat in his seat, "Of course I did. And I expect pumpkins twice as large next year. Did you whittle the dragon you gave me?"
They conversed while they ate; Draco explained how he made the Expansion Potion for next year's pumpkins, and Hagrid told him how he carved the dragon and enchanted it.
"'Course, I had someone else do the enchantin'." He said rather loudly to their surrounding co-workers. "Since I can't do magic."
Draco gave him a knowing smile and sat back with tea in hand, greeting the rest of the Professors as they took their seats. McGonagall was the last to enter, and Draco greeted her with a Happy Christmas before downing the contents of his mug and standing. He only had one place to be today and once he got it over with, could spend the rest however he wanted; probably at the end of a full bottle of alcohol.
With a nod to McGonagall and the rest of the staff, he sauntered from the Great Hall and whipped out his wand to Accio his cloak. Once it fastened in place, he cast a warming charm on himself, and various protection spells on his flawless shoes. Though he couldn't feel it on his skin, the chilled air filled his lungs, and his breath came out in small clouded pants as he trudged down to the Apparation point just outside of Hogsmeade.
The village was comfortably silent so early in the morning, though Draco could spy a few silhouettes of people celebrating Christmas through the windows.
Finally reaching the Apparation point, Draco took a steadying breath and pulled out his wand. With a flick, he Apparated just behind the St John Church in the small Muggle village of Colerne. Though Malfoy Manor was located only five miles north, Draco was never allowed to visit here as a child—for obvious reasons.
Only a small dusting of snow covered the surrounding ground, and he glanced around cautiously before making his way to the adjacent graveyard. He hadn't meant to Apparate so far from the entrance, but the first thing that had come to mind when he Disapparated from Hogsmeade was the Christmas Church service. Draco was only glad he hadn't been deposited inside the damned building.
Once through the iron-wrought gates, he headed to the centre of the small graveyard where a monumental statue of an angel stood, her arms spread out in a welcoming gesture. Quickly casting a Notice-Me-Not charm, and with another glance just to double-check no Muggles watched, Draco stepped up to the statue and pulled down on her left arm. The angel began to twist, one of the large stone wings nearly clipping him in the face as he stumbled back from it.
The ground surrounding it gave way to reveal a staircase, and though Draco had been here many times over the years, it still unnerved him to have to go underground. It should be familiar to him, having lived in the Hogwarts dungeons for most of his life, but this was different. This was old and well... made of dirt.
With a steadying deep breath, he cautiously began his trek down the uneven stairs. Once halfway below, he could feel the shift of magic, almost like an electric current rolling across his skin. It was always a bit overwhelming at first, and after a momentary pause on the spiralled staircase to adjust, Draco continued down.
His foot left the final stone step and met with the soft grass-covered ground as he took in his surroundings. Balls of fae-light floated about, creating a calming glow on the dark dirt dome he was under. The familiar large, twisted yew tree sat dead centre; it's forever-green leaves unnaturally still without a breeze to tousle them. Surrounding it were the graves of his ancestors, some dated back to the Founders Era and even well beyond that. He remembered coming as a boy on various occasions, once asking his father why they weren't buried on the Malfoy grounds.
"It's bad luck," he had said while standing before Abraxas's grave. "To be buried on your own land."
Draco's lips pulled into a bittersweet smirk remembering his father's words while he weaved through the ornate, and expensive, tombstones. Coming upon Lucius's grave, the large Malfoy crest carved just at the top of its curve, Draco's stomach dropped as it did every time he saw it.
His father was such a coward, but it didn't hurt any less not to have him here. Even though he would be sitting a life sentence for the things he had done during the War... Draco angrily wiped at the tears that now marked his cheeks.
"You stupid idiot," Draco mumbled to the stone. "I would have fought for you. I would have spent the entire Malfoy fortune to get you out of there."
He crouched down, eye level with the engraved words of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy - January 10 1954—June 19 1998.
Draco pulled out his wand and conjured a small bouquet, placing the flowers gently against the stone. His fingers brushed over the saying he had etched into it; And in the end, he is missed. Devoted husband, loving father. Ad meliora.
"Towards better things," Draco repeated the Latin phrase. Standing to walk towards the exit, Draco took one final fleeting glance to where his father was buried and remembered his mother's letter. "Mother says hello."
The words made his chest clench; he wasn't sure why this year affected him so, he usually would be able to control himself and his emotions. It had to be because of Granger—something was changing in him with his feelings for her.
He couldn't decide if he liked it.
Thoughts turning to his bushy-haired witch, Draco ascended the Malfoy graveyard, for once eager to be back above ground. As he reached the top few stairs, he could hear voices in the distance. He peered around the angel statue and discovered the Christmas service had begun. Muggles wearing their Sunday best under thick winter coats filed into the old building, greeting a man dressed in white robes at the door. Draco stood and watched the happy families, his breath coming out in small puffs of steam.
A clawing feeling began in his chest at the sight of children with their parents, peels of laughter floating through the chilled air. A woman with dark brown curls stood at the end of the line, and Draco stepped from around the statue to see her better. The angel began to twist, closing the entrance, but Draco barely noticed over the crunch of the snow under his boots. The line dwindled as he approached the Church, and before he realised, his legs had carried him to the end of it, only one person left before the man in the white robes greeted him.
"Hello, there." The elderly man welcomed him with a wide smile. "Finally joining the services this year, eh?"
Draco blinked in confusion. "I'm sorry?"
Peering down his spectacles, the man gave Draco a knowing look. "You return here every Christmas like clockwork. I see a heaviness in your shoulders, a weariness. You're much too young to carry all this pain, and yet I can't help but think that despite it all, you're a fighter—stronger than you know. Tell me, who is it you come to see in the Church's cemetery?"
"My father." The answer tumbled out of Draco's mouth before he could think. The man was so inviting with his warm demeanour, yet something twinkled in his eyes. It reminded him heavily of Dumbledore; approachable, but all-knowing.
"Ah, the loss of a father can weigh heavily, yes. You're much too young to have lost such a loved one."
Loved? Draco wasn't sure if he knew the meaning of the word. Had he loved his father?
The question made a lump form in his throat.
"I can see the pain is still fresh." The man said, taking in Draco's face. "Perhaps you'd like to come inside? We want nothing from you, but you are welcome. Maybe you'll find respite, even if just for a moment. You never know what path will lead you towards better things."
Draco tried to swallow the lump in his throat and could feel his palms begin to sweat.
"Reverend Morris."
They both turned to a teenage boy, dressed in a similarly draped white robe, though nowhere near as ornate.
"Reverend, the sermon should start soon..."
"Ah, quite right you are, Jeremy, thank you." The man Draco now knew as Reverend Morris, though he wasn't quite sure what a Reverend was, turned back to him. "Come inside. Share your weight with others; let us help you heal."
Draco's heart hammered in his chest, the words echoing in his brain, and before he realised it, he had taken a few steps towards the door. Through the open threshold, he could spy at least a hundred Muggles, all sitting in the lined wooden benches as they waited for whatever this was to begin. Draco could feel his throat dry at the thought of being around so many of them. Would they be able to see his blackened soul? Would they know the things he'd done?
The dark thoughts caused him to retreat a step, and the Reverend looked at him with a quirked brow.
"Not just yet, eh? Quite alright, my boy. Maybe another day." The man turned, his long white robes billowing out behind him as he retreated inside the building. The boy followed just after, giving Draco a backward glance before shutting the large doors behind them.
Left alone in the icy snow, Draco felt...odd. His heart felt lighter than it ever had, thoughts swimming with all of the Reverend's words. Maybe, when he returned next Christmas, he'd attend.
His world seemed brighter at the thought as he Apparated away.
The trek back from Hogsmeade didn't seem quite as far as it had earlier. On the contrary, Draco relished in the feel of the chilled winter breeze on his skin as he walked. Today would be the perfect day for a flight, and he quickened his pace back to the school to retrieve his broom.
The Great Hall was still lined with students, some having just roused from sleep to eat a late breakfast, while others showed off their presents to their friends. Draco avoided them all, ducking passed the Hall, right down the Dungeon stairs. After a quick check-in to make sure his classroom was still locked against rambunctious children that enjoyed creating foul potions, he went to his rooms and grabbed his broom. Though it pained him, he swapped out his beautiful oxfords for a pair of his now mundane-looking leather boots. He set his shoes on his trunk, the dark green of the fabric glinting beautifully against the lights that burned in the wall sconces.
With a small smile and a short backward glance, Draco left them, heading out towards the Lake for a midday flight. He pulled his cloak tighter around him, whispering another warming spell into the fabric.
As he approached the glistening water, he frowned to find a lone figure sitting beneath the tree, staring into the murky depths. Nearing closer, Draco's frown deepened to discover who it was.
"McAdams?"
The Gryffindor turned from where he sat in the snow, shock on his face to see Draco. He said nothing, but regarded Draco with a pinched expression. Draco knew he wasn't a favourite of the Gryffindor, especially after that last incident with the cauldron explosion. But he was still a student, and Draco had a responsibility as the boy's professor to figure out why he was out here alone.
"Where's Mr Kane? You two are rarely without each other."
McAdams ignored Draco, moving his glare back out to the Lake. Draco gripped the handle of his broom tighter as he walked closer, now only a step away from the boy's robes.
"Did something happen—"
"Cass is at his gran's house," McAdams mumbled and began to pick at the threads of his cloak. "For hols."
"Oh," Draco replied stupidly. Of course, Kane still had family, while McAdams...
Maybe it was the run-in with the Reverend from earlier, but Draco felt a sudden tightening in his chest for the boy. With an internal sigh, he sat down next to him, tucking his broom carefully in the crook of his elbow.
"And you didn't want to go with him?" Draco asked awkwardly. He never had to have this type of conversation with a student before; it felt notably foreign and odd. But he had a duty to ensure the well-being of his students, even if they were troublemakers.
McAdams continued to mess with the threads of his cloak, and Draco could see the internal battle he was having with himself. It was an uncomfortable conversation to have, especially with a professor you didn't like.
Seeming to come to a resolution, McAdams replied, "His gran's a pureblood... she doesn't like me. Only puts up with Cass because he's a blood relative, but I'm just a nobody half-blood orphan."
Draco sighed outwardly this time, his breath leaving his nose in a puff of steam. He fixed his gaze on the frozen surface of the Lake, watching the sun glint off the ice as he tried to piece his next words together. Even fighting a fucking war over blood prejudice couldn't kill it.
"You are more than your blood."
He saw McAdams look at him fully from the corner of his eye, his hands stilling their ministrations of ripping out the thread of his cloak.
"And Kane's grandmother sounds like a frightful old..." he glanced around to make sure there weren't any prying ears, "bitch."
A guffaw of a laugh left McAdams mouth, his lips curled up in a shocked smile at a professor swearing. Draco felt a small sense of pride swell in his chest to know he was able to make McAdams, of all people, laugh. Glancing to his broom, he tightened his hand around the handle before making a decision.
"Here." He stood and offered the boy the Firebolt, the dark wood slightly wet from the snow. "I... I want you to have this."
"What?" McAdams stood too, his eyes staring at the broom in awe. "Your Firebolt, Professor?"
"Happy Christmas."
"But, Sir, I couldn't—"
"It's just a Firebolt," Draco lied, his heart sinking and swelling at the same time. "I can buy a dozen more, I am a Malfoy, remember?"
McAdams reached out, his hand wrapping around the handle and Draco reluctantly let go of one of his most prized possessions. It had been a spur of the moment thing to offer this boy his Firebolt, but seeing the look on his face was worth it.
Tears pricked the corners of McAdams's eyes as he inspected the broom, and his voice came out soft and mumbled. "Professor, I can't..."
"Happy Christmas," Draco repeated, taking a few steps back from his student. "Just don't break it, alright?" He turned and retreated inside the castle, and once he passed the threshold of the stone, looked back to find McAdams already soaring over the Lake.
Why he had decided to give this boy one of the few gifts remaining from his father, he couldn't say. Maybe as some sort of payment for his crimes in the War? Maybe to ease the burden of his soul, even just a little? Whatever it was, one thing was for certain.
Draco needed a fucking nap.
Draco frowned into his goblet, the wine sitting bitterly on his tongue. The Christmas Feast raged on in front of him from the House tables, and he watched with the other professors at the students' outbursts. Draco spied McAdams at the Gryffindor table, jabbering his head off, the Firebolt resting against the bench behind him.
"Happy Christmas, Draco."
Draco turned with a jolt to find Hermione behind him, a dark burgundy blouse hanging loose on her figure. His gaze travelled down her black trouser clad legs to discover her wearing the shoes he gifted to her.
And fuck did they look fantastic.
He cleared his throat before speaking, sure that if he hadn't, his voice would have left his lips in a squeak. "Happy Christmas, Hermione."
Her red-painted lips curled in a small smile as she took the chair Neville typically occupied, the Herbology Professor still at his grandmother's home. She filled her own goblet with a small bit of wine, leaning on the chair's arm with her elbow to move closer to him. Under the table, her pointed shoe wrapped around his ankle, hooking his leg against hers.
Draco's pulse jumped in his throat as he regarded Hermione from the corner of his eye. "Did you have a good holiday?"
She hummed in confirmation as she swallowed a mouthful of wine, the dark colour of the liquid sitting on the curve of her lip. When her tongue swiped out to catch the droplets, Draco swore to Salazaar and Merlin, that woman would be the death of him.
"Yes, I got quite an array of presents," Hermione said, setting her cup back to the table. "I even got a letter from Pansy Parkinson with an offer to go see her store. Apparently, someone went recently to buy me a gift, and she thinks there might be much more I'd like, too."
Her gaze regarded the Hall as she spoke, and at these words, Draco looked at her thoroughly with a quirked brow. "Pansy sent you a letter?"
Hermione gave a small shrug, her lips forming a smile. "Yes, and I think I'll take her up on the offer."
Dread settled into the pit of Draco's stomach. Those two women together would only spell trouble. No, he couldn't allow them to get together. For fucks sake, the very idea of them becoming friends made his blood turn to ice.
"No, absolutely—"
"Professor Malfoy!"
The voice of McAdams had Draco snapping his jaw shut and inhaling sharply. He turned back to find McAdams walking towards the faculty table; the Firebolt grasped between his hands and a wide grin on his face.
"I just wanted to thank you again for the Firebolt, Professor," he said, looking between Hermione and Draco with glowing eyes. "It was so much fun to fly, I've never had my own broom before—"
"You're welcome, Mr McAdams." Draco interrupted the boy's ramblings, an uncomfortable feeling settling over him at the praise he received. "I believe your friends are leaving."
McAdams looked back to the Gryffindor table, most of them finishing their dinners to head back to the common room. With a tossed goodbye over his shoulder and a wide wave, McAdams joined them and disappeared through the door.
"You gave him your Firebolt?"
Draco took a large swallow of his wine and settled back into his chair, a frown turning his lips downward. "Yes, apparently I turned into quite the Hufflepuff while you were away. I gave away one of the few remaining presents from my father but..."
He trailed off, uncertain how best to phrase what had happened. He certainly didn't want Hermione to think he was a gigantic Pygmy Puff.
Hermione's hand rested atop his on the arm of the chair, her warm fingers pressing into his skin. Draco looked over to find her honey-coloured eyes watching him with something he couldn't quite place.
"Come to my room tonight."
With those words she stood, unhooking her foot from around his ankle and walking down the platform. She said a few hurried hellos to the students still at their tables, and Draco's heart thundered in his chest with each step of those beautiful heels as she left.
Tonight couldn't come soon enough.
The light knock on her chamber door, hours later, thundered in the empty hall, and Draco swore his pulse was just as loud. He counted the seconds that ticked by waiting for her to answer, body tense with anticipation at the possibility of being caught. It would only take one roaming student or faculty member to round that corner and—
The door pried open soundlessly, and Draco jumped a little at being caught off-guard. Hermione stood before him, her teacher's robes draped over her body, and her curls pulled back into a messy bun. Before Draco could even bite out a greeting, she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind them.
Her bedroom was similar to Draco's, though not quite as dark, and of course, decorated in appalling Gryffindor colours. Before he could inspect the room further, he felt the sudden pressure of lips on his cheeks. Glancing to Hermione, he found her blushing brightly and fidgeting nervously with the sleeve of her robe.
"Why are you wearing your teacher's robes?"
Hermione ignored his question and walked to the centre of the room to lean against the footboard of her bed. Draco could spy those dark emerald heels still clad on her feet and thrill went through him.
"So, you like your present, then?"
Hermione regarded him with a smouldering look from beneath her lashes. A curl dropped from her bun, and she quickly tucked it behind her ear. "I...um...I—"
She chewed on her bottom lip, and Draco watched her teeth nibble on the sensitive flesh. He took a step towards her, but she held out a shaking hand, her blush deepening.
"Wait, there's something...I still have to give you your present."
Draco smirked and folded his arms across his chest, leaning back against the door. "Alright, where is it?"
Hermione moved the outstretched hand to the top button of her robes, her gaze burning a hole into the floor and her blush darkening tenfold. With a deep breath, she undid the clasp, the black fabric cracking open and sliding down her arms to pool on the floor.
Draco was sure he had died.
Hermione Granger, Golden Girl, Wizarding World saviour stood before him wearing... wearing... Fuck, she was wearing lingerie.
A dark green teddy hugged her torso, the lace curving delectably over her hips. The large slit straight down the centre, barely held by a single strap of fabric in the centre, pulled her breasts together. Her legs were clad in black stockings that stopped just above her knees, the lace trim gripping her soft thighs. The golden snake of those beautiful shoes he had given to her stood out in stark contrast from the dark fabric, and as she shuffled her feet nervously, Draco's gaze flickered back up from his roving to find her staring at him in apprehension.
Speechless, his arms dropped from their hold, and hung loosely by his sides in surprise.
"Is this..." he trailed off, his brain unable to form anything more.
"Your present," Hermione replied softly, her hands running gently over the rosaline fabric. "Happy Christmas, Draco."
Pushing off from the door, Draco crossed the stone flooring to stand in front of her, only an arm's length away. "You picked this out for me?"
She twirled her fingers together; her straightened arms pushing her breasts up and causing Draco to harden in his trousers at the sight. "Well... Blaise told me your favourite colour is green and Harry said that maybe this would be a good choice—"
"I don't want to hear those tosser's names right now," Draco said bitingly, cutting her off. He reached forward to wrap the curl that had fallen from her bun around his finger. Dropping the strand, he trailed his finger over her cheek and down to her mouth, grazing the plump flesh. Hermione parted her mouth, a stifled sigh escaping it as Draco pressed harder. They maintained eye contact through it all, her honey-brown eyes watching him—pupils blown with desire.
"Can I kiss you?" They both knew what he truly meant to ask.
Draco watched Hermione's adam's apple bob as she swallowed nervously. "Yes."
It was all he needed to hear.
Closing the gap between them, Draco wrapped her in his arms, his hand circling her waist to pull her close as their lips met. The kiss was instantly heated, the desire pressing in his trousers spurring him to lose all abandon. Their tongues danced together as her hands came to tangle in his pale hair and she gasped into his mouth. The sound made his pulse heat, and he quickly roamed his palms up the lace of her teddy bodysuit to cup her face, pressing his lips more firmly against hers.
Draco pulled away reluctantly, his hands still on her cheeks and hers still in his hair. Her red, swollen lips glistened delightfully, and a thrill went through him as her tongue darted out to trace them.
"So you like it?" she asked softly.
Draco smirked, "It's perfect."
"This is only the first part," Hermione replied, her voice even softer than before. Draco could tell she was nervous—if her shaking hands and whispering were any indication.
He quirked an eyebrow, dropping his hands to grip her hips tightly. "And what's the second?"
Disentangling herself from him, Hermione took a step back and pulled her wand free from her bun to let the chestnut curls cascade over her shoulders. With a flick of her wrist, the candlelight dimmed considerably, and Draco blinked a few times to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkened room. Turning her back to him, he delighted to find the reverse side of the garment was completely backless, and the part that covered her arse barely hid anything, the rounded mounds pushed out either side of the fabric.
Her heels clicked pleasantly on the stone flooring as she walked to her bed, setting her wand gently atop the nightstand. As she turned around with a hooded gaze, Draco willed everything in him to not trail after her like a lost puppy.
"Your second present, Draco, is I want..." Hermione trailed off and took a deep breath. As she let it out, he could see her eyes burn even from a distance. "I want you to fuck me."