Notes: Wow, I continue to be impressed with all my readers. Thank you for reaching out or simply just enjoying. I appreciate all in equal measure. I want to credit April White and her Immortal Descendants series for some of my ideas about time travel and what happens when you create a time split. And super shout out to Gemma Barrett who narrated the first few audiobooks of that series. Her ability to create character voices is some of the best I've ever encountered in an audiobook.
Okay, we're nearing the end here. There are two more chapters after this one. A short one and a long one. I can't believe we're almost there, but right now, there's still plenty to come... ;)
WARNINGS: Sexual content
~*~ Forty Four ~*~
Hermione's head throbbed like she'd had a few too many firewhiskeys at the Leaky Cauldron or woken up with Luna in some horrible hotel room with only a vague memory of dancing the night before. It happened more than she liked to admit, but had ceased to be a common occurrence when they'd both found employment in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic. The department heads tended to frown upon their employees ending up two sheets to the wind and possibly compromising the security of their work.
So it made very little sense that she was slumped across rough stone with a hangover sized headache and no memory of the day before, let alone the night. Groaning softly, she rolled to her back and was confronted with a decidedly male body splayed across her. Silken hair tickled her cheek and she pulled back to see angular features framed by rough cut platinum hair that fell just beneath his jaw. She blinked, his entire face coming into focus. Draco Malfoy? She'd ended up passed out on a staircase with Draco Malfoy?
It didn't seem impossible, but was highly unlikely. She hadn't seen him in several years, not since a Quidditch World Cup where they'd sat together to watch Harry play. Last she'd known, he'd taken over the Malfoy estate and was divesting the family of any nefarious assets that had been connected to his late, mad aunt.
Studying his defined features, letting her gaze linger on his full lips, she had to admit he was more than attractive enough to warrant a liaison. But they'd always been in slightly different circles, only his friendship with Harry tying them together, so the opportunity had never arisen. At least until now, it seemed.
She gently shook him, hoping that he could shed some light on their current predicament. His eyes fluttered open, long lashes framing otherworldly gray that had always reminded her of stormy seas or frosty winters. He swallowed heavily a few times as he pushed upright, the loss of contact between them leaving her far more bereft than she had any right to feel.
"Granger?" His voice was deeper than she remembered and rimed with an exhaustion she shared.
"Yeah." She smiled sheepishly. "Any idea how we got here? I seem to be drawing a blank."
Malfoy pushed to his feet, legs wobbling for a moment. He surveyed their surroundings, taking in the dilapidated castle at the top of the stair and the grand sweep of barren peaks beyond. "What the fuck? Last I remember I was playing a quidditch game with Harry and a few of the other blokes. The great super star finally found some time to slum it with us regular folk."
Hermione rose slowly to join him, turning in a bewildered circle. "Luna and I were shopping for wedding dresses."
"Congratulations."
She blinked at him. "Oh. No. Not my wedding. Hers. I haven't been able to wrangle anyone since Ron decided my interest in continuing to work was incompatible with his desire to have a family."
"Weasley's an idiot."
"Thanks." She glanced glumly around, willing her memories to return. But there was nothing, just a nebulous haze that made her vaguely uneasy. She glanced over at Malfoy. "Anything?"
"I think these are the Alps, but I have no bloody idea what we're doing here." He searched his pockets, brow furrowed until his wand appeared. "Well, we haven't been disarmed, so I think we can rule out an attack of any type. Odd."
"Very," she agreed. "Want to explore the castle?"
He turned to the dark fortress behind them, its stones black with ruin. A tremor seemed to run through him before he turned abruptly away. "I think not. Something doesn't feel quite right about it."
Hermione couldn't help but agree. Every time she looked at the forbidding structure, the hair on her arms rose and a chill she couldn't explain ran down her spine. The curious part of her, the part that had landed her firmly in Ravenclaw wanted to figure out what caused the unfamiliar sensation, but she was hardly a foolhardy Gryffindor and felt no need to charge in unprepared. Sighing, she turned to face Malfoy. "So now what?"
"We find a tavern and have a drink or two. I, for one, am definitely not fit to apparate anywhere, especially when I don't even know where I currently am." He trudged down the stairs and began descending a winding path she had missed in her earlier examination of the forest beyond. "I figure we head into one of the vales and we ought to find some sign of civilization, Muggle or Magical."
"And if we don't?" She kept her eyes on the ground beneath them, stepping carefully over stones in the path.
"Then we deal with that when we have to and not a minute before. My head hurts too bloody much to think that far ahead."
Thankfully the first glen they entered quickly gave way to a sleepy mountain town boasting cobbled streets and kitschy storefronts bursting with postcards featuring the dark castle they'd left behind. Hermione scanned the images, quickly digesting the information they revealed.
"Nurmengard? Isn't that where Dumbledore and Grindelwald had their showdown, back during the war?"
Malfoy's eyes slid to her and then the array of postcards. "Yeah. I think Grindelwald is still held in the upper level, incarcerated in his own prison until nature takes him."
A shiver skittered over her skin. "Probably a good thing we didn't go inside."
He murmured an affirmation while running a hand through his disheveled hair. "I guess that tells us where we are."
"But not why."
"No." He sounded more confused than ever and she couldn't blame him. She'd only ever had a passing interest in Grindelwald, the most notorious Dark Wizard to ever live. He was more ghost story than reality, used to scare children into avoiding the Restricted Section, despite his continued existence in the depths of Nurmengard. She would never have undertaken a trip to the infamous castle on her own.
Malfoy had already moved on and she hurried to catch up with him as he rounded a corner where brilliant summer blooms spilled out of stone planters set atop the uneven cobbles. The whole town had embraced the summer heat, seating entirely moved outdoors, flowers hung from every eave. It would have been charming if Hermione hadn't been preoccupied by their mere presence in such an unfamiliar place.
A tavern took up most of the sidewalk and part of the street midway down the next block and Malfoy stopped, dropping into a vacant seat. Hermione followed suit, scanning the menu sitting on the table, but coming up blank when she realized it was in German and French. Her counterpart seemed to have no such language barrier as he surveyed its contents.
A young woman with an outline of Nurmengard etched on her obscenely pink t-shirt stopped by the table and Malfoy ordered for them, speaking what she assumed was French. He cast a weary smile in her direction as the girl maneuvered back toward the building. "I hope you don't mind a Weissbier."
"At this point I'll take anything."
He nodded in sympathy. "Tell me about it. I ordered a pretzel for both of us too, so hopefully food in our stomachs will make the nausea go away. What the bloody hell were we doing yesterday, Granger? I haven't felt this bad since Potter's stag night."
Hermione snorted. "You lot were a right mess, weren't you?"
"Almost didn't make the rehearsal," he admitted, wry smile twisting his full lips.
She looked away, trying to ignore the pang of desire that shot through her. Since when did she think Draco Malfoy's lips were so sensuous? Clearing her throat, she focused on anything else, which ended up being quidditch of all things. "I miss watching all of you play. Slytherin was undefeated for how many years running?"
"Five," Malfoy proudly announced. "But it was all Potter. He's the best seeker Britain has seen in at least half a century."
She shook her head, giving him a knowing smile. "That's not entirely true you know. You were a bloody good chaser, could have gone professional like Harry if you'd wanted."
His eyes rolled, color rising on his alabaster skin. "Thanks for the compliment, Granger, but I'm no Oliver Wood. Bloody Gryffindor. We had to wait for him to graduate before we stood half a chance."
The waitress set down their drinks, saying something that must have meant their food would be out later. Malfoy thanked her, the only bit of the exchange she truly understood, and sipped greedily at his beer. Hermione raised her glass and took a tentative sip, then a gulp. The light amber liquid was refreshing in the summer heat, the taste delicate for a beer and perfect for an afternoon on the patio.
"You still at the Department of Mysteries?"
She nodded, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Yeah. Pretty much a dream job even if I can't really talk about it. What about you?"
"Getting rid of Bella's mess mostly. My father is a moron for looking the other way for so long, even if she was my mother's sister. Mother always saw her for what she was, that's why she and Aunt Andromeda started documenting Bella's insanity back when they were all still under one roof. Just goes to show how far prejudice can drive you. My father is still under the mistaken belief that our last name means something beyond bad faith in French." He shook his head ruefully, platinum strands falling enticingly over stormy eyes. "But as I said, he's a moron."
Hermione nodded, unsurprised by his derision toward the senior Malfoy. It had become quite apparent during their years at Hogwarts that while some families still clung to the ideals of blood purity, Malfoy and his mother were not among them. He'd once knocked out Vincent Crabbe's teeth with his bare fist when the ingrate had called her a Mudblood. No one else in Slytherin or any of the other houses had dared to insult her again. Malfoy and Harry had been like royalty in the dungeons and crossing them was simply not done.
"Weren't you and Astoria Greengrass engaged?" The alcohol was freeing her tongue perhaps a bit too much.
He paused, setting his drink back on the picnic-style table. "We were. We set a date and everything. Rented this beautiful villa on the coast of Greece."
Malfoy fell silent, teeth worrying his bottom lip, light fading behind his eyes. Hermione swallowed, wanting to look away, but compelled to understand what had happened. "But?"
"There was an accident. She didn't make it to St. Mungo's in time."
The breath rushed out of her lungs, a feeling of dread twisting her stomach. She felt sick, but there was something else beyond the pang of sorrow, an echo of another grief, a memory that she couldn't quite touch. She concentrated on his face instead, on the line of his jaw that trembled just a hair, on the tempests breaking free in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Draco. I hadn't heard. Harry should have told me."
"I made him promise not to." He scraped a hand over his face. "It all happened so fast and I couldn't deal, not for months. Harry helped as best he could, Blaise too, but I couldn't stand the thought of the rest of you knowing. It would make it too… real, or something."
She broached the distance between them, clasping her hand over his. "I would have been there too, if you'd let me. So would Pansy, Luna and Padma."
He turned his hand over, their fingers lacing effortlessly together. "Thank you. It was silly of me to cut you all out. To keep the funeral a private affair. But it was years ago now, just after graduation from Hogwarts."
It explained why he'd drifted away, why their lives had ceased to overlap in even the barest of ways. "I missed you."
His features twisted in amusement, grief slowly chased away. "I was under the impression you didn't even like me that much, Hermione Granger."
"I thought you were an arrogant ass who was too handsome for his own good. That doesn't mean I didn't like you." The words were out before she could think better and she could feel the flush that rose on her cheeks as his eyes widened.
Hermione barely noticed the girl delivering their pretzels. Malfoy's eyes swept across her face, darting down the column of her neck to the fitted tank top she wore below before slowly trailing back up. The fire the overt leer ignited was overpowering, greater than any burn of desire she could remember. Had she always been so attuned to him? She didn't think so. They never would have made it out of Hogwarts without falling into a cupboard together if she'd reacted this forcefully to him as a teenager.
Holding her stare, his thumb caressed the supple skin of her wrist. The resulting tremor shot straight to her core, embarrassing heat pooling between her legs. Pretzels and beers forgotten, he tossed a handful of euros on the table and pulled her to stand. Hermione's heart beat out of her chest as she let him lead her across the square. They stopped briefly to chat with a young concierge at a quaint hotel before being handed a large brass room key.
Her skin was on fire where his hand gripped hers, desperation for his touch humming within. She had never felt this connected. The urgency to feel him against her, inside her, to taste his lips was inexplicable. She'd found him objectively attractive for years, but she'd never had to fight the urge to tear his clothes off. They were friends. Just friends. But friends didn't crave the heat of each other's mouths, nor tilt toward the edge of orgasmic bliss from a simple sultry look.
The hotel door banged shut and her back was against it, Malfoy's body pressing along every inch of hers, like it had been there a thousand times before, like they fit perfectly. His inhale was unsteady, his heartbeat thunder against her chest. "Tell me to stop."
She should break the connection, should take a step back and examine the tidal wave of unfamiliar desire that encompassed both of them. She closed the distance instead. His lips parted instantly, devouring her like a starving man, tongue plundering the depths of her mouth. She moaned, wanton and frantic, surrendering to him in every possible way.
They clawed at each other, clothes flying and breath panting, lips latching on to bare skin at every chance they got. He was leaning against her, muscles toned and well defined, her hands greedily tracing every contour. His teeth dragged across her breasts, skimming her nipples before dropping to nip at the juncture of her thighs. The last layers between them were ripped away as they stumbled toward the bed. He bent to bring his mouth back to her pulsing core, but she hauled him up, unwilling to wait another moment before feeling him sink inside of her.
Malfoy's swollen lips parted, a strangled moan falling from them as he filled her. Her walls spasmed, a reminder that it had been at least a year since she'd done this. But the pain melted into pleasure within the first stroke and soon she was thrusting up, meeting him halfway, pleasure mewling from her parted lips. He swallowed her moans, mouth demanding and hot and undeniable. Her ankles locked around his strong thighs, the angle shifting to create a steady build of pleasure beneath her navel. His first name tore from her as she crashed over the edge, entire body twitching in unparalleled ecstasy.
He made her fall into that abyss several more times before he finally succumbed to his own need, shooting hot and deep within her. They remained twined together even as the raw edge of desire abated.
Hermione was shaking, from the aftermath of the relentless tide of orgasms, but also from the depth of emotion that had accompanied them. This hadn't felt like their first time at all. It had seemed as though they'd done this so many times their bodies knew each other, the feelings connecting them far beyond the lust of a one-night stand. The way his stormy eyes had cleared as he'd come, his entire world narrowed to the woman beneath him—to her—made no sense at all. That was the look of a man deeply in love, not a former friend discovering new territory.
Malfoy's breathing had turned even and Hermione realized he'd succumbed to the exhaustion that had been chasing them ever since their mysterious arrival on the Nurmengard steps. Giving up trying to puzzle out their situation, she surrendered as well, content to melt into the circle of his arms, to simply enjoy the total completion of him beside her.