A/N: Happy Wednesday! As promised, here is the early chapter, and now there are only two others remaining! Chapter 11 will be posted Friday and Chapter 12 will follow it on Wednesday!
Chapter 10: Got It Bad
As much as Hermione tried not to focus on the dueling emotions roiling through her, she couldn't help but withdraw into herself, far more introspective than she'd allowed herself to be in years.
It had filled the cracks of the silence that settled between her and Draco the night before as they worked through the evening on the remaining article drafts, no amount of Draco's jokes enough to completely drive away the rising panic that threatened to pull her under.
He must have noticed it, because when he'd walked her to the lift at the end of the night, he'd tentatively grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her to a stop. "You don't have to go this weekend if you'd rather not. I know you had plans, and it was rather presumptuous of me to expect—"
With a tight smile, she'd cut him off. "It's alright," she lied, the strain in her tone obvious. "It's just been a long day; I know how important this is, for both you and Witch Weekly." When his lips pulled down into a deeper frown, a furrow settling between his brows, she tried again. "I'm looking forward to it. It'll be good to get away for the weekend."
His smile didn't quite reach his eyes, but he let go of her. "Already tired of your healer, Granger? Doesn't bode well for the vow we made, does it?"
The reminder of the magic flared warm on her skin, and judging by the way he absently rubbed at his wrist, it had for him as well. "Well, even if it doesn't work out, you've got your end of the bargain to hold up."
The lift doors clanged open, and she stepped in, his gaze burning a hole in her as she pressed the button for the first floor. Though she moved to hold them open for him to step in, he simply shook his head with a quiet, "You go on, Granger," before he walked away.
The whole trip home, she worried that she'd said the wrong thing.
Now, standing in the atrium of the Ministry while waiting on him, Hermione couldn't help the nerves that danced along her skin. Theo had accepted her cancellation with a smile, though she'd been able to see the disappointment in his eyes.
Part of her wished he'd fought with her. She'd been itching to goad him into one, but Theo hadn't let her. Instead, he'd wrapped her into a tight hug, promising a rain check for the following weekend.
What did it say about her that she was already dreading it?
And what did it say about her when an involuntary grin split across her face when Draco stumbled out of the Floo nearest her, shaking soot off his shoulders. Finally settled, he strode across the room, his easy grin flashing at her. "Good morning, Granger!" Immediately, he pressed a paper travel cup in his hand. "Two creams, two sugars, just the way you like it," he answered before she could even ask.
Taking an appreciative sip, Hermione fell into step with him as they approached the lift. "Awfully kind of you to start my morning with a coffee."
He shrugged as they stepped into the lift, dipping his head at the attendant. "Least I could do after dropping this trip in your life and dragging you to deal with Ministry bureaucracy at—" he tipped his wrist towards himself, pretending to read the time in a manner he'd surely adopted from her "—half seven in the morning."
Her only response was a quiet hum, tightening her hands around the gifted coffee.
When the elevator ground to a halt, she followed him out, his low voice calling back to her. "We're meeting Blaise at the Department of Magical Transportation; he'll have—or should have—secured our Portkey by the time we arrive. We'll travel directly to the French Ministry, which will leave us some time to drop off our bags at the hotel, and then we can sightsee a bit before we have lunch with the La Sorcière de Paris executives."
"Right." Her heels clicked loudly in the empty hallway, punctuating her singular syllable. After a moment, she continued, "And when is our Portkey set to return?"
Draco shrugged, glancing at her as he walked. "It's really up to the Ministry, though I petitioned to return midafternoon on Sunday. The time difference is a bit of a pain, given how far we have to travel." Raising a brow at her, he added, "And I thought it might be nice to extend the visit with a friend."
A friend. Right. Though she smiled at him, the picture of eager excitement, disappointment fluttered in her chest before she chastised herself. She had a boyfriend. "That sounds perfect."
Hermione wanted to add more, but Draco stopped short, pulling open a door with the Ministry seal and the letters D.M.T. emblazoned in shimmering gold font across its middle. Once inside, Blaise was nowhere to be found, so Malfoy approached the counter, stating the reason for their visit and requesting the required documentation.
Despite the secretary's suspicion, she demanded their wands and scuttled away with the paperwork in hand. Moments later, she returned with an old toothbrush dangling limply from her fingers. With a curl to his lip, Malfoy accepted the object, making sure not to touch the bristles.
"You're set to depart this morning at exactly one minute and fifty-eight seconds past seven. You'll return Sunday afternoon at six minutes and three seconds past five in the evening," the woman droned, large eyes batting behind her coke-bottle glasses. "If, for some reason, you were to miss your Portkey, you are to return to the French Ministry of Magic with proper identification. Your wands should suffice, as they have all been registered according to your magical signature."
She paused her long-winded rant to blink owlishly up at them. "Any questions?"
The door crashed open, Blaise all but falling in the door as he rushed to them. "Am I too late?"
The woman didn't answer, instead rolling her eyes and outstretching her palm. When Blaise gripped her fingers and dipped a light kiss onto her knuckles, a blush stained her cheeks, and Hermione's jaw fell open. The woman spluttered, searching for her words, and finally squeaked out, "Your wand, please, sir."
With a charming smile, Blaise released her hand, palming his wand and settling it in her outstretched hand. "Here you are, Miss…?"
Blushing furiously again, the woman gasped. "Fawley. Avonlea Fawley." A nervous titter escaped the woman as she backed away. "But you can call me Lea."
"Lea it is, then." Blaise winked, likely sending the poor girl down the hall with heart palpitations.
Once Avonlea passed through the swinging door, Draco whistled under his breath. "Christ, Zabini, we need the receptionist to survive long enough to bring your wand back. Try not to kill her with your charm."
Blaise settled beside Hermione, hip checking her as he stopped and sharing a conspiratorial grin with her. "I was late; it's only right to make up for it by making her feel special."
Even Hermione laughed with a quick roll of her eyes. "You're incorrigible. And what about Ginny?"
A quick flash of longing passed over his gaze, his brow puckering, but Zabini covered it quickly. "You heard the witch; it's casual. Ginny does as she pleases, and I do the same."
Hermione doubted the truth to his statement, but before she could press further, Avonlea returned, extending Blaise's wand with another throaty chuckle. "You're all set. The Portkey will depart in precisely two minutes. If you'll follow me this way, I'll escort you to the departure point." Without waiting for them, Avonlea turned, opening an inward swinging door that had been set into the wall inconspicuously.
Each of them filed through; Hermione in the lead, she turned to Draco, who shrugged.
In front of her, Avonlea responded, "Extra precautions given the war. First-time international business travellers are subjected to extra screening." She leveled a glare at Hermione when Blaise slipped behind her, a hand low on her back to avoid bumping into her. "Mister Malfoy and Mister Zabini have travelled abroad for business before, but since you, Miss Granger, have not…" She didn't finish, allowing her haughty judgement to fill in the silence.
With a deep, steadying breath that calmed the rage Avonlea's look ignited in her, Hermione stalked forward. It was against her moral code to pit women together, and she'd be damned if she let a stranger allow her to do the same.
Instead, she took one of the indicated spots across from Draco, who settled the toothbrush on a plain white pedestal in the middle of the departure point. "Thanks for your help, Avonlea," Hermione said, sending a genuine smile only just coloured by irritation at the receptionist.
She was greeted with a noncommittal sigh. Avonlea turned to Blaise, addressing her next statement to him. "In thirty seconds, your Portkey will depart. Please place your fingers on the instrument. Do not remove your hand until all movement has ceased or risk being splinched." A measure of glee coloured that statement, and Hermione thought perhaps the woman wasn't being territorial after all.
Perhaps she was just quite mad.
Hermione wasn't afforded any further introspection though, because shortly after she laid her finger on the Portkey, it glowed a bright, iridescent blue and swept them away.
By the time they'd sorted a room mixup, Hermione was knackered, and they agreed to split up for quick naps before reconvening for lunch. Though part of Hermione was disappointed that they wouldn't get any exploration in before their meal, the larger part of her begged for at least an hour of rest.
When she pushed her door open after fumbling with the wand lock, she dropped her bag, her disbelief a physical presence within her.
Her room was adorned in swaths of luxurious white fabric, accents of red interwoven in the thick golden curtain cascading to the floor.
But it was the view out the window that took her breath away.
Beyond the balcony, bracketed by the red tulips sprouting from the flower pots draped over either side of the wrought iron railing, the Eiffel Tower loomed, its spire reaching up to touch the sky.
It was the most beautiful thing in the entire world, and she would take any opportunity to see the city again—even if it meant cancelling her plans with Theo.
Abandoning her bags at the door, Hermione crossed the room in an excited skip. She didn't pause to admire the California king bed stacked high with pillows or gape at the menu that had been prepared personally for her. No, she had eyes only for the balcony and the scene beyond.
It was silly, but her fingers trembled with excitement when she pushed the double glass doors open, instantly inhaling the slightly floral scent that seemed to bath the hotel. The magical floors, they'd been told upon admittance, had been charmed to smell fresh and floral at all times; unfortunately, according to the pompous desk clerk, Paris often smelled due to vagrants of both Muggle and magical varieties.
Hermione was of the opinion that those were the people who society owed the most, but she'd stifled her opinion to avoid offending the French.
She'd fight those battles another day.
With a contented sigh, Hermione flopped into one of the painted white iron chairs dotting either side of the table. It was already set with a full tea service, but quick inspection yielded a freshly pressed breakfast roast waiting for her, and she took a deep sip, watching the day settle fully over Paris.
Bugger the magazine; she wanted to be here all day, basking in the sunshine hundreds of kilometres away from all her problems.
Of course, just as she settled into the relaxation fully, she heard the click of the balcony doors next to hers and a familiar voice drawling her name.
"Granger, I'd have imagined finding you out here with a book at the very least. Maybe one of those articles I saw tucked away for editing in your briefcase."
She peeled her eyes open, meeting Malfoy's gaze as he peered over at her, the Eiffel Tower framed just over his shoulder.
It shouldn't have made her heart flutter, but it did.
"Go away, Malfoy. I'm taking a moment to pretend that the world doesn't exist." She closed her eyes again, waiting to hear the door click close again, but when she didn't, she opened one eye, finding his back turned to her as he observed the landscape.
He didn't respond to her immediately, allowing silence to fall between them. She allowed her eye to drift close again, fully prepared to ignore him as she relaxed, but he interrupted her just as she settled in. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"
It was, but she couldn't bring herself to admit it. This experience was so divorced from the romance of her date with Theo, but it felt so much more like her. The coffee, the private balcony—minus Malfoy lurking on his own—and the peace in her soul… it felt right.
There was still so much back home she needed to figure out, but here she could just be herself for a while.
Summoning the cushion from the other seat, Hermione tucked it behind her head and propped her legs up on the seat, quickly drifting off into a comfortable slumber.
The knock on her balcony door came entirely too soon, and she grumbled to herself, throwing an arm over her eyes. "Go away."
She instantly recognised the answering chuckle as Malfoy's. "No can do, Granger. We've got a lunch date with Giselle in an hour; I assume you want time to freshen up from the trip and your impromptu nap in the sun."
Groaning, she lowered her arm, glaring up at him. "Why do you have to be right?"
"Because I'm always right. You think you'd know that by now, but alas, I am more than happy to remind you any time you require." He tossed a cheeky wink in her direction and waved his hand inside. "Come on, then. We can Apparate from here, but the restaurant is still about two blocks from the nearest Apparition point. We'll need to leave enough time to walk."
With a long-suffering sigh, she unfolded herself from the chair, passing him as she entered the room, but he stopped her beside him, a gentle hand on her hip. She wrenched her head upright, eyes lingering on his lips a second too long before she met his gaze, her brows drawn down in question.
"You've a—" he reached out, plucking something from her hair just above her ear. "A petal," he finished, his voice taking on a gravelly quality that did funny things to her stomach.
His touch was too gentle, his eyes entirely too dark, and with a breathily muttered, "Thanks," she pushed past him and locked herself in the bathroom to prepare for lunch, refusing to think about what had just transpired between them.
Lunch went well. Almost too well, if Hermione was honest.
Giselle Leblanc was a vivacious witch, flirty and forthright and not afraid to play for what she wanted.
Right now, she wanted Draco Malfoy.
Throughout the whole lunch, she made innuendo after innuendo, both in French and English, and Hermione watched as Draco grew redder and redder beneath his collar, trying—and failing—to turn the conversation back to the magazine.
Finally, after the check had arrived and Hermione had paid her tab—conveniently forgotten by the marketing manager, though she promised to reimburse her meal later—Draco had managed to steer them back to the task at hand.
"Giselle, thank you for your hospitality," he'd started, neatly folding his napkin over his plate, signalling that he was through with the meal and ready to conduct business. "I understand that you'd like to discuss a collaboration between La Sorcière de Paris and Witch Weekly."
"Oui," the woman replied, her husky voice caressing the word as she locked eyes with Draco. "Although I should say that my interest in collaboration lies solely with you, Monsieur Malfoy."
The colour heightened on Draco's neck, and had it been under any other circumstances, Hermione might have laughed that the self-professed playboy was uncomfortable under the attention.
Water his lifeline, Draco took another deep sip before he continued. "I appreciate that, Giselle. However, I'm quite happy with Witch Weekly, but I'd be honoured if we could—"
Blaise exchanged a glance with Hermione, whose blood boiled inextricably as Giselle reached across the table and squeezed Draco's hand. "For you, mon cherie, anything."
He appeared almost embarrassed as he shook her hand off, casting a sideways look at Hermione before he answered, taking the lead at the slight inclination of Hermione's head. As if the witch would listen to her even if she tried to negotiate anything. "Witch Weekly is prepared to offer you a shareholder portion of our magazine in exchange for equal input in yours. In addition, we'd like to develop a cultural column that helps wizards and witches understand and navigate different cultures since La Sorcière de Paris is so renowned for its sociopolitical awareness."
Hermione had to swallow her beam, proud of the diplomatic way he approached the negotiation, though it didn't surprise her at all given his pureblood upbringing. He was a natural, schmoozing just enough, but the woman's laugh startled her.
"You're so cosmopolitan, with all your fancy words and negotiations. We'd be happy to work with you." Giselle finally turned her gaze to Hermione, gracing her with a smile that was only slightly pinched at the corners. "You've done a fine job of making a respectable periodical of the drivel that Witch Weekly used to be." Aiming another smile at Draco, Giselle swept up. "Miss Granger, we'll be in touch. Monsieur Malfoy, would you be so kind as to walk me to the coat check?"
Ever the pureblood host, Draco stood immediately, buttoning his jacket and escorting the woman away, hand placed respectably in the middle of her back.
Hermione didn't realise she was staring critically after them until Blaise coughed lightly. "Well, that went… well?"
Humming, Hermione gathered her hand bag, trying to wipe the jealousy from her face. "We got what we came for. That's what matters."
A noncommittal noise from Blaise drew her gaze upward, the scrutiny in his deep chocolate eyes pinning her to the spot. "Did we though?" He stood, offering her his hand without further comment, and though she was wary of him, she accepted, allowing him to tuck her fingers into the crook of his elbow. As they walked towards Draco and Giselle, the latter laughing and leaning into Draco's space, Blaise murmured, "Be careful, Granger. Draco's not the type to be so open so willingly." He pulled her to a stop, his normally playful demeanour serious. "Don't hurt my friend."
Then he was gone, her retorts left to wither on her tongue.
Don't hurt his friend? What did that even mean?
But then Draco was at her side, whisking her away to a library tour that Blaise had declined by proxy as "far too swotty for even himself to enjoy."
They'd spent the afternoon in each other's company, carefully perusing the shelves with few words spoken between them. Hermione had grown so comfortable in Malfoy's presence that it didn't strike her as strange until the baker at a patisseri had commented on young love.
She'd been quick to deny the observation, but Draco had simply smiled back, gaze shuttered.
Towards the end of the day, walking along the streets of Paris as the sun set behind them, Hermione nibbled at a chocolate croissant. Draco hadn't stopped her from giving the last few galleons she'd had in her bag to a small child who didn't have enough for gelato, but she didn't mind the small treat compared to his large helping of gelato.
"So," he broke the silence, glancing sideways at her. "Today went well."
A definitive nod of her head. "It did. Davison will be pleased that we managed to secure the partnership. Imagine the stars in his eyes when he sees the galleons."
For the first time all day, Draco's laugh was genuine, uninhibited by the awkwardness of the lunch meeting with Giselle. Taking a deep breath, Hermione took the plunge, pressing for the information she really wanted. "You know, Daphne said that Giselle intended to offer you a contract to transfer to their publication. Permanently." She peeked at him from beneath lowered lashes as they walked. "Big office, regular feature-length articles. The whole of it. You'd be a big deal in the publishing world. Could even work up to an editor position with them, probably quite easily given the way Giselle was eyeing you today."
Snorting, Draco took a large bite of his gelato, grimacing at the chill of it before answering. "I suppose so, yeah." He kicked a rock out of the path, eyes carefully avoiding her. "If you want that sort of thing."
"And you don't?" she mused aloud. "I'd have assumed that was exactly what you were looking for. You know, a way to restore the Malfoy name to its former glory, but this time with literature!" She said the final bit with an awkward shaking of her hands to remove some of the sting, earning her a quiet chuckle.
They rounded a corner, street lamps clicking on and illuminating the path. "If you read the other, more salacious tabloids, you'd be completely accurate in that assessment." He shrugged, depositing the last of his unfinished gelato in a bin. "But I find myself quite content where I'm currently at in my life—it helps that I'm rather adept at the position currently afforded to me."
"Yes, you're a bastion of relationship advice for women the whole wizarding world over."
Suddenly, he was just beside her, bumping his hip lightly with hers, a habit she'd grown irritatingly fond of. "Whether you want to admit how good I am at my job or not, I'm the reason you have a boyfriend right now," Draco drawled, the space between them charged.
His proximity robbed her of the words she meant to answer with, and she was lost, staring into his eyes, everything else quieting to a dull roar around them.
"Granger?" He was so close, his breath fanning over her face, and just as she was about to let her eyes flutter shut and lean into him, he broke the eye contact to glance over her shoulder.
Sounds rushed back and sense returned, heat rushing up her cheeks as she leaned backwards, redistributing the weight from the balls of her feet.
It was ridiculous to be disappointed, but she was all the same.
"Do you hear that? The music?" He searched the growing shadows, and suddenly, he took off at a run, dragging her behind him.
She'd abandoned her heels blocks ago, casting a cushioning charm on the soles of her feel after Draco's warning about glass on the street. Now, she was thankful for the aid of magic because he tore through the streets, her hair whipping about them and a wild smile on his face as he followed the sounds of the bass.
Finally, after what felt like several blocks of breathless chase, he pulled her to a stop, the flashing lights of a nightclub casting the fine planes of his face in sharp relief.
For just a moment, Hermione let herself admire him—and admit to herself just how alluring she found him—but he didn't stand still for long, striding forward and speaking in rapid French with the doorman. When the large man stepped aside, holding the door open for them, Draco turned, pure joy in his grin. "Come on, Granger!"
Stepping backwards with her hands raised, Hermione shook her head. "As much fun as that sounds—and believe me, it does—I think I'm going to head back to the room." She punctuated her statement with a yawn. "It's been a long day."
His expression dropped, but after another quick exchange with the bouncer, Draco approached her, something like a pout forming on his lips. "Granger, one dance. That's all I want. I'll buy you a drink, we'll dance to one song, and then we'll go back to the hotel."
The earnestness in his tone nearly swayed her, but then she remembered Theo, her emotions warring with her, and she shook her head. "I really shouldn't. I—"
But then Draco was there, sweeping a strand of hair from her forehead. "One dance. I promise to be on my best behavior."
There was an undercurrent in that promise that she wouldn't allow herself to acknowledge, admiring the amber flecks in his gunmetal gaze, but she found herself nodding, allowing him to coax her into the depths of the club.
The lights were lower than she was used to, but Hermione's experience was limited to evenings out at the Leaky with Harry and Ron, not posh clubs in the heart of Paris. After flashing his wand at yet another bouncer, Draco pulled her through a warded area and into a less crowded room. The lights were still low, but the music was slower, the sea of bodies on the dance floor thinner, though the space between them had seemed to evaporate.
Hermione couldn't tell where one person ended and the next began, a thought which sent her pulse racing.
Almost as though he sensed her unease, Draco reached back, snaring her hand in his as he dragged her to the bar. He kept the order simple, a gin and tonic for her and a whisky neat for himself. Immediately upon receiving the beverage, Hermione took a hearty sip, trying to fortify herself against the nerves that were palpable in the shake of her hand.
She allowed him to lead her through the club by his hold on her wrist, selecting a table near the dance floor where the sound was just muted enough that they could talk.
"You seem to know this place," she half shouted, but he waved his wand over them, further dulling the sound, and a flush spread across her cheeks, feeling foolish she hadn't thought to do that herself.
"Blaise and I came here once or twice before the war when our parents went on holiday together. I'd forgotten about it until I heard the music." His gaze rooted her to the table, the way it traced the hair that had fallen free of her plait and clung to her chin and cheeks. "I thought you might enjoy the opportunity to unwind after today."
It wasn't until he'd mentioned it that she realized how tight her shoulders were, the nerves she'd fought all day manifesting in the way she held herself, and she forced herself to take another drink and relax the hunch she'd worked herself into. "It is quite nice, if nightclubs are your thing," she allowed, warmth spreading through her at the laughter in his eyes.
"Quite nice," he repeated, shaking his head as he looked at her. "You know, Granger, I think you're the only one that can turn a phrase like that into a dual-edged sword." The song shifted, the roiling beat of a salsa reverberating through the air. Suddenly, he rocketed upright, extending his hand to her. "Come on."
Involuntarily, her gaze scanned over him, taking in the carefree tilt of his head.
With a jolt, she realised she liked him like this—fun, laughing, discarding that cynical exterior for just a moment—and she placed her hand in his.
Loosening a deep breath and following her heart for once, she joined him on the dance floor.
It was fun, at first. He twirled her outright, not fussing when she stepped on his toes. He placed a hand on her hip to guide her into the motion, helping her to find her rhythm in the song, and soon they were moving in sync.
Through it all, his attention was locked on her.
Not the wealth of other, impossibly beautiful women in the room. Her hair was wild, her sun dress wrinkled from the frenzy of the day, but he couldn't look away from her.
When her tongue darted out to wet her lips, his eyes followed it, darkening as he stepped into her space.
As though someone was waiting for the shift, the music slowed, an alluring downbeat punctuating the music, and he led her into fluid motion.
Maybe it was his pureblood upbringing—perhaps he'd had lessons in his youth or maybe he was just naturally gifted—but the way his body rolled against hers, their hips brushing intimately, stole Hermione's breath away.
It had nothing to do with the grind of the rhythm and everything to do with the intensity in his eyes.
After several spins, he abandoned all pretenses of the dance, instead leveraging his hand against her lower back to press him into her, his other hand tangling in the loose hairs at the base of her neck.
Gods, she wanted to kiss him.
And suddenly he was closing the gap between them, intent on eliminating all the distance between them, but Theo's face flashed through her mind, and she pulled away, sucking in desperate gasps.
"We ought to go—Blaise will be wondering where we are," she blurted, eyes still trained on his full lips, mind screaming at her to shut up and kiss him, but when his gaze shuttered and his lips pulled into a frown, she extricated herself from his hold and made for the door.
The Apparition point wasn't far from the club, and they walked in silence, Draco settling his suit jacket over her shoulders when a chill wracked through her. Carefully looping her arm through his when he offered, they disappeared with a pop, reappearing around the corner from the hotel.
But she didn't let go, squeezing tighter as they walked, and finally she gathered the courage to murmur, "Thank you for tonight. It was… everything I didn't know I needed."
Despite the disappointment roiling off him in waves, he smiled down at her. "You're welcome, Granger."
By the time they made it to the hotel, the lobby had cleared and the lifts were slow to arrive. Instead, they made for the stairs.
"You're a lovely dancer," she offered as they climbed a flight, the exercise so soon after dancing that the statement came out breathier than she'd have liked.
She didn't miss the way that Draco's eyes flashed to her. "As are you."
They ascended three more flights, Hermione still clinging to his arm. As they reached Draco's door, Hermione found herself reluctant to go, a nervous twist to her stomach.
"Right, well—" she shrugged Draco's jacket from her shoulders "—thank you for this."
He accepted it with a wry smile, their fingers brushing, and she couldn't stop herself. She leaned in, wrapping her arms around his middle, his lean muscles enticing beneath her fingertips. "It really was a lovely evening."
His agreement vibrated through her, and it was all she could do to pull away.
She spoke again, rooted to the spot as he focused solely on her. "I really ought to get to bed, then." When he made no move to stop her, she turned, her own ridiculous disappointment flooding through her.
A barely-there curse was her only warning before he scooped her into his arms and pressed her to the wall.
Draco kissed her like a man starved.
Sealing his lips to hers, he didn't ask for permission, didn't place his hands politely along her waist or claim her lips in a chaste embrace. One hand delved into her hair, tugging at the hairs tickling her neck, while the other gripped her waist as though she might disappear entirely if he didn't anchor himself to her.
And it took her no prompting to kiss him back, to devour him with equal enthusiasm, opening her mouth with a gasp to invite him in. She raked her nails down his back over his shirt, swallowing the groan she dragged out of him and leveraging herself to prop one leg over his hip.
Only the ding of the lift down the hall stopped them, and they sprang apart, both of their chests heaving.
Draco looked as if he'd been hit by a rogue bludger, and Hermione was sure she wasn't far off.
She found her voice first, her fingers floating to her lips. "We ought to get to bed, yeah?"
For his part, Draco appeared to be lost of all words, but he nodded all the same, backing towards his door with a sexy yet dumbfounded grin on his face. Finally when his hand found the knob, he managed a whispered, "Goodnight, Granger," before he was gone.
On a high, Hermione let herself into her hotel room, closing the door with a decisive click before she slouched against it for a moment, sucking in deep breaths to steady herself. When her knees no longer threatened to give out beneath her, she pushed herself away.
She crossed the room in a daze, leaving a trail of discarded items as she went: bag, one heel, then the other. When she finally made it to the sofa, she slouched down on it, fingers going to her lips, still tingling from the voracity of their kiss. "What the hell was that?" She laughed to herself, disbelief and delight tinging it. "And why do I want to do it again?"
A/N: Ahhh I've been so excited for this chapter all week! I hope you enjoyed! Drop me a line below and let me know :)
Thank you so much to my alphas, LadyKenz347 and mcal, for their wonderful support and help on this fic! I'm eternally grateful for them and their wisdom as I've navigated writing this. It wouldn't be the same without them! Prepare yourself for an INCREDIBLE Marauder's era fic from LadyKenz and go check out mcal's new fic, a Remadora set during canon, called Love and War!
Second thanks go to In_Dreams, my incredible beta who is literally one of the best people on this planet. I'm so glad for her friendship and advise! If you haven't started reading her WIP, Nocturnus, go check it out!