Hi everyone, this chapter has lemons in it. If that's not your thing, skip to the first scene marker. Hope you're having a lovely day! I appreciate your reviews so much.
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As soon as they landed in the flat, Draco's lips were on hers. Hermione snatched off her wings and kicked off her shoes; he somehow unlaced his and left them in the hall in the mad dash to get to his bedroom.
Once inside, he brought strong arms around her waist, holding her as if she might disappear at any second. His skittish dance, unsure of whether to clutch her tightly or send her spinning out, quickened her pulse.
"Before we do this…" Draco searched Hermione's eyes. He would back off at the smallest sign of hesitancy.
"Draco, I want this. I want to be with you," she stretched up on her toes to place her palm on his shoulder. It shook, just a little, before meeting its mark.
"Just for tonight?"
"Not just for tonight. Not for just a week or a year," she gasped as he set his head on her shoulder and nuzzled his face in her neck. "For always."
He planted tender kisses on her skin, trailing up her neck to suck gently on her earlobe. Hermione's knees buckled, but he held onto her. If his mouth felt this good on her ear, how would it feel everywhere else on her body? Every bit of her ached for him; the sweetest pain only Draco could soothe.
"I want you so badly," he groaned. "I don't know how to do what you like."
She pulled away and cupped his face with her hands. His jaw ticked. "Yes, you do. Last time…" She saw the nervousness in his eyes and decided to confess. "I didn't fake it. That wasn't the problem." It was clear now what transpired between them was the result of sorrow and fear. The heightened emotions drove them both over the edge, but the endless depths they fell to afterwards — those she never wanted to revisit.
His hands were warm when he brought them to rest over hers. "But it's different this time."
Gods, she wanted to kiss him again. Comfort him. Lose herself in him. But even as she closed the distance between their faces, she forced herself to maintain the tiniest of buffers. Everything had changed for her, but she had to know, before she let him in... "How is it different?"
Draco practically trembled as he whispered, "This time I'm in love with you."
She wanted to drown in him, never coming up for air, but she forced herself to tell him words she never thought she'd say, but fell from her lips like a prayer. "Draco, I'm in love with you, too."
She pressed her lips to his, pouring all her loneliness and longing into him. His mouth was hot and wet and moaned into hers, devouring her without finesse. They moved in tandem, tongues imploring each other to taste more, take more, give more. She welcomed him in, drawing his body closer with every sweep of his tongue. He tasted exactly like she remembered — spring air and spearmint. They melted into each other, surrendering to the magical bond between them and something much more potent.
Hermione reached for her wand, still nestled between her breasts. The heavy silk of the gown brushing against her nipples combined with the ache in Draco's kisses sent heat licking down every inch of her skin. If she could just get the dress off… but her usually nimble fingers failed her.
"Allow me," He seemed to read her mind, stripping off his jacket. It slithered to the floor, but his eyes never left hers as he dipped his hands, warm enough to melt chocolate, into the swell of her breasts. She felt all breath leave her lungs as he slowly withdrew the wand.
Instead of placing it in her waiting palm, he turned it on her. "Evanesco."
And just like that, she was bared to him. He dragged his gaze up and down her body, raw desire personified. His ragged breath was the only sound besides the crackling of the fire. Hermione moved to cover herself. No one else had ever seen this much of her body, and certainly not when she was dizzied with arousal.
"No, please...let me see. You're everything."
Hermione's arms prickled with gooseflesh, nervousness giving way to sheer want. "Touch me, Draco."
Draco approached her with the reverence of a pious man worshipping in a goddess's temple. He raked his palm over one breast, thumb brushing her nipple. Hermione shivered with the delicious sensation. She gasped at the scrape of teeth as he fastened his mouth over her pebbled nipple, her back arching.
Taking it as permission, his lips met her jaw and slid into her hair. He pulled her into him, pressing his thigh between her legs. Hermione threw her head back and whimpered at the pressure, her cries transforming into his name as he turned his attention to the other breast.
Lost to his firm hands and his exploring tongue, she found herself spreading her legs for him, eager to receive his touch there, too. He trailed one hand down, dipping between her legs to find the gathering wetness there. "Granger," he rasped. Something about hearing that name fall from his lips again made her heart sing.
She peppered kisses against his chest, her arms wrapped around his neck, holding onto him for dear life. Like a cat, she rubbed herself against him, wordlessly asking for the friction she desperately needed. Draco gripped her hips as if to slow her down, but she rolled against him even harder.
Draco backed them up to his bed, his legs folding over the edge. He dragged Hermione down with him, locking his eyes with hers. Her breaths became shallow as he settled her over his thigh, her toes barely touching the soft carpet.
"Take what you need." It was not a command. He was begging her.
He licked the delicate undersides of her breasts, kneading them in his warm hands as she began to rock. Hermione gripped his broad shoulders, still sheathed in his dress shirt, nearly toppling as she ground into him. Draco set one hand around her generous hip and squeezed, encouraging her.
Steadied by his firm grasp, Hermione dared to pursue her own pleasure. She reached for one of his arms and brought it between them, setting his fingers to work on the bundle of nerves that ached for more. He teased her lower lips open, gliding through the wetness and dipping into her cunt. The sound of her slick coating first one finger, then another, had her tipping her head back, her mind blissfully empty.
"I remember exactly how you feel," he confessed between kisses, his fingers curling against her front walls in a delicious come hither motion. "I've thought about it for ten fucking years."
As if he couldn't bear to draw his hands away for even a second, but needed her skin on his, Draco loosened his bow tie and wrenched it off. The sound of silk whispering through silk sent fire ripping through her veins.
"Salazar, I don't want to just remember anymore."
Hermione leaned forward and unbuttoned his shirt while he massaged her hips and thighs. As she reached the last button, she boldly skimmed her hand over his erection. In response, he popped her up so she was on her knees, and covered her soft, round belly with kisses, nipping and sucking on her skin. He blazed a trail down to her cunt, dragging the flat of his tongue across her clit. This was new, personal.
"Please," she whimpered, and he rewarded her with another finger.
Draco lifted her off his lap and laid her on the bed in one swift movement. He shucked all his remaining clothing, saving his briefs for last. Hermione sucked in a breath as his cock sprang free. She hadn't had a good look at it last time, but now she admired it in all its glory — long, thick, uncut. She wet her lips, imagining it in her cunt — and her mouth. He met her heated gaze and stroked himself gently, swiping the bead of moisture gathered at the tip of his slit down his shaft.
He settled between her legs, and the mere suggestion of his breath on her entrance had her arching, throwing her arms behind her and grabbing the silky sheets, holding on for dear life. The bedding smelled like him, and she pulled it closer to her face as the pleasure she'd been chasing mounted. Draco swirled his tongue against her centre and her hips jumped at the pressure. He slid one hand under her arse and held her there, laving at her and reintroducing two fingers. She clenched around him, crying out as the orgasm sent her legs shaking. He rose slowly, pressing a deep kiss to her inner thigh, eyes so dark with desire she trembled all over again.
Gods, why had they waited so long to do this? Her head, hazy with bliss, swam with possibilities of where this night would take them. She barely had enough of her wits about her to ask for the contraceptive charm.
He muttered the spell over them both, and instead of pushing into her right away, he laid down beside her, propped up on his elbow and searching her eyes. Hermione shifted her body towards him, basking in his attention and the warmth of his nearness. She wanted him closer, inside her, coming undone. But as his mouth slanted over hers again, she realised he was waiting for something.
"I want this," she gasped between kisses. "I want you inside me."
"Thank the gods," he groaned.
He wasted no time rolling on top of her, and they gasped in tandem as he pushed into her slowly. She curled a hand around the back of his head and pulled him down for another kiss. Draco looped an arm around her, lining her up to ready her for the continuous smooth glide of his length into her core.
Despite his preparation, they were both unpractised, and so he entered her barely a few centimetres before she cried out. He dropped his forehead to hers in supplication, whispering encouragement, thanking her, and her legs widened at his earnest words. The stretch stung as he made progress, but quickly faded to an exquisite level of fullness as he seated himself fully into the hot clutch of her body. Hermione scraped her fingernails down his back, clawing at him to fuck her harder, deeper. She needed something more, and Draco seemed to sense it. He moved one hand between them, seeking her clit again, rubbing it with the rough pad of his thumb. Her legs jerked, and he backed off, ghosting over it in little strokes that had her arching against him.
Draco pulled her up to sit in his lap. One arm encircling her hips, he lifted her up and back onto him until he bottomed out in her in one satisfying slide. He experimented with each thrust, bringing her all the way up to the tip of his cock and slamming her back down; angling himself towards the sensitive spot at her front walls and finally finding a rhythm.
Hermione moaned her encouragement, her spine tingling and something insistent building inside her as she ran her hands down his scarred chest. Draco distracted her from the old memory by creating a new one she'd play over and over in her mind. It was so simple it became seductive — he delved a finger into her mouth, extracted it with a pop of her lips, and brought it back to circle over her clit again with a concentration that made her walls flutter and tugged at her heart.
"Like that?" He asked, his brow coated with exertion.
"Yes, yes. Right there, don't stop." She dragged out the last syllable as his thrusts severed the tight string fraying inside her core. He drove into her again just as indescribable pleasure surged within her, and with a strangled cry, she came again.
Draco fucked her through the orgasm, lazier and longer than the first, his hands gripping her hips as he snapped his up into her. She draped her arms loosely around his neck, still riding the wave of ecstasy. Coming around him was so much different than coming on her own. Her body seemed to draw him in deeper, ceding to the primal urge to take everything he had and create something new.
"I won't last much longer," he panted. "You feel so fucking incredible."
Hermione bounced up and down on him, eager to bring him over the edge. "Come for me. Draco, please? Come inside me."
At her command, Draco bucked, coming forcefully inside her with a groan imbued with ten years of frustration. Ten years of separation. Ten years of longing for something they didn't know they could have.
When the pulsing of his cock faded, he kissed her with delicate reverence and gently withdrew. He reached for his wand to clean them up, and Hermione was too boneless to tell him she liked the way his spend leaked out of her; liked to feel the evidence of his ardour.
Ever the gentleman, he didn't collapse on her, but beside her, tucking a pillow under both their heads. Salt and something stronger replaced his lavender scent, and she buried her face in the crook of his shoulder as he grasped her with a tenderness she never thought possible.
Draco kissed the top of her head and she sighed and wriggled closer. "Are you okay? Are you cold?"
"I feel amazing," she assured him. "You're nice and warm. I could stay here forever."
For the first time, she realised she really could. Draco, her husband, loved her, and she loved him. It was that simple, yet at the same time revelatory. They could share endless nights of passion, change the world for the better, and build a life together.
Everything was different now, and she wouldn't go back, not for anything.
He tucked a finger under her chin and found her eyes with his. "I'll never let you go again."
She brought her hands to the sides of his face and kissed him. Before long, their languid touches turned hot and urgent once more. Their magic intermingled, a soft pink glow surrounding their bodies, drawing soft sighs of pleasure from Hermione. Draco captured each one with his lips, and the bedroom glittered as sparks rained down around them.
They pulled apart in wonder.
"Is it always like this?"
"I don't think so," Draco said quietly. "But luckily, we'll never know otherwise."
Hermione heard the promise in his words. They would be together now, in every sense of the word. Draco and Hermione, Lord and Lady Malfoy, now and forever.
After a few moments, she smiled and kissed his nose playfully. "Good."
He trailed his fingers down her arm, gently continuing down the curve of her waist, reaching her hip. She arched into his touch, answering the question in his eyes.
Yes, I want you.
I'll always want you.
Draco disappeared from sight as he pulled the covers over his head, his insistent mouth sending her headlong into bliss once more.
00000
Draco finished lacing up his boots and stood to leave. Hermione slept peacefully in his bed — their bed. He paused for a moment, enraptured by the gentle movements of his beloved wife as she slumbered. He'd never woken up with her before, only what she left behind; the smell of her on the sheets, a stray hair or two. He wished he was still tucked up against her now, reaching around to cup her generous breasts, whispering everything he wanted to do to her in her ear…
But if he didn't leave now, he might not have a wife to come back to, because they were both in danger. In the morning light, Goyle's words at the Solstice Ball took on a new shape.
"There's no use crying over spilled blood, Draco."
Spilled blood.
The press had printed sparse obituaries for both Astoria and Narcissa, neglecting to mention their cause of death. Most magical people would assume the deaths were unrelated — maybe one was in an accident, the other a victim of a once-in-a-generation curse or some unknown malady. He couldn't remember what they'd told Daphne.
No one would know the women bled out on the dining room floor of Malfoy Manor.
No one except the killer.
Goyle. His old friend. Goyle killed Astoria and his mother.
Narcissa had practically been a second mother to Goyle. Draco recalled hosting Crabbe and Goyle on many sunny summer afternoons at Malfoy Manor during his younger years. His mother would watch them sail along on their brooms, ready with snacks and ice cold lemonade in the garden when the boys had finally exhausted themselves. She healed their scrapes and bruises while they stuffed their faces with pastry after pastry. Sometimes she'd convince Goyle's father to let him stay the night, and pretend not to hear them tell the inappropriate jokes and tall tales boys seem to adore.
How could Goyle kill Narcissa?
And Astoria… Goyle had always doted on Daphne's little sister. He never complained when she tagged along on outings to Diagon Alley. Draco had seen it in Daphne's eyes on multiple occasions: She loved Goyle, not only because he was kind to her but also because she wanted to marry a man who loved Astoria just as much as she did.
When he courted Astoria, Daphne seemed pleased. It wasn't public knowledge, but Goyle sent his regards from his cell in Azkaban, having heard the joyful news from Daphne. Draco, still determining who he wanted to be in the post-war world, especially as a former resident of Azkaban himself, didn't respond to Goyle, who he considered too entrenched in the Death Eater community.
Oh, gods. Why didn't he see it earlier? The Ministry had released Goyle only a few days before the murders. He was at the funerals… They'd almost come to blows, and would've, were it not for Blaise's cool head. Goyle was way more worked up and wild-eyed than an ordinary mourner should have been, but Draco had only just married Hermione, and was too high on potions and out of his mind with grief to see it then.
But how did Goyle get into Malfoy Manor? And why?
Hermione turned in her sleep, eyelashes fluttering as she found a more comfortable position. Draco couldn't think, and time was of the essence if he was going to catch Goyle off guard. He'd piece together the how and the why later. Right now, Goyle needed to pay.
Draco tucked the liquid luck in his coat pocket and looked at Hermione one last time before he left, reassuring himself she was safe within their wards. No one but Potter, the strongest wizard of their generation, had been able to get through the ones around the building since Hermione reinforced them, and even he had difficulty. The Floo was closed except to himself, Mrs. Tannenbaum, Blaise, Theo, and Pansy.
And Draco didn't plan to be gone long.
He walked out the door, down the stairs, and Apparated with a crack. Draco landed in front of Greengrass Manor and marched up the flagstone path. Their wrought-iron gate, encrusted with ice, twisted and crumpled under his wand, and he shook with rage as he approached the front door. The lantern blazed above him, the green flames testing the edges of their glass cage.
His head swam with visions of Goyle crumpled on the ground, thrashing under his Crucio in agony. Jet after jet of magic flashed from his wand as he fantasised about questioning the dark wizard, pulling each answer from Goyle like a Healer cauterising a wound. No, he wouldn't go that far, but by gods he wanted to.
Draco pounded the door with his fist until a diminutive house elf greeted him. She insisted the Master and Lady of the house were not at home, but despite her squeaky protests, he sidestepped the elf and stormed into the main foyer, wand at the ready.
He was unsurprised to find it empty, inhabited only by a long leather sofa on a threadbare rug. Like other Pureblood families, they'd probably been forced to sell most of the furnishings. Draco trailed a finger over the back of the sofa. It came away coated in dust.
He stilled, listening for any signs of life. The ancient stone manor lay silent, but perhaps Goyle had prepared for his arrival. It could be a trap. Keeping that thought at the forefront of his mind, he crept the perimeter of the room, casting detecting spells as he went. The spells found nothing at all; no wards, no curses, no alarms. Goyle and Daphne were practically defenceless.
Was Goyle so confident? Was Daphne so foolish?
When he was satisfied the foyer was truly devoid of both people and magic, he eyed the two corridors flanking the foyer. Draco debated only for a moment before choosing the one to the right. If there was a trap, surely he could avoid falling into it.
He moved stealthily along the edge of the corridor, flinging open doors and sending purple-hued hexes into every room. When that proved fruitless, he returned to the foyer and stalked down the corridor to the left, repeating the process.
He opened the last door, which swung open on creaky hinges. It looked to be Goyle and Daphne's bedchamber. Not only was the room clean, it was also the only one that showed signs of use. The bed, unmade, was cold, but Daphne's dress from the night before lay at the foot. A shaft of sunlight entered through a window draped with dark green curtains, highlighting a small desk littered with parchment.
Draco strode over and picked up one letter after another. They were mostly from debt collectors, but one caught his eye. The handwriting was unfamiliar to him, and the print was so neat and crisp it seemed sterile, without personality.
Meet me at the manor. I'll have company.
Well, here he was at the manor, and there was no one at all. Did Goyle dictate this to Daphne, but not send the letter in time? Had he sobered up and known he'd given himself away last night with his careless words? And who would he ask to come to his defence?
Draco seethed at the idea that his former sidekick was outsmarting him, either by hiding in plain sight or having realised his mistake and fled. He gave up trying to sneak around and bounded out of the bedroom.
"Goyle!" His voice boomed through the corridor. "Goyle! Come out and face me like a bloody fucking man!"
The only reply to his rage was an echo. The manor was truly empty.
Having exhausted all options, he returned once more to the foyer, where the house elf trembled in her dingy pillowcase dress. "Mister Draco…. Mori promises, they aren't here!"
"Fuck!" Draco screamed, his frustration reverberating off the high ceilings.
Where the hell were they?
Remembering the frightened creature in front of him, he threaded his fingers through his hair and took a shaky breath, returning his wand to his holster. "I'm sorry, Mori. I'm sorry."
He shouldn't have come alone. He could've been injured, or worse. Hadn't he just said to Hermione that they needed to work together and not take things into their own hands again, because it never ended well?
It was a good thing he hadn't given into his earlier instinct and drank the Felix Felicis. The valuable gift would have been wasted. He patted the pocket of his greatcoat, assuring himself the phial remained on his person.
If he left before Goyle returned — if the Death Eater even planned to return — he could explain everything to Hermione. What Goyle said, how Draco had only put it all together this morning after the champagne had worn off. He and Hermione could call the Aurors, just like she'd been begging him to do. Weasley and his team could have Goyle behind Azkaban's iron bars before nightfall.
Gods, Theo was right. He was a bloody idiot.
For lack of a better goodbye, he gave Mori a shallow bow, breezing past her and back out into the December air.
The frigid temperature cooled his anger. Yes, this was a far better plan. He'd Apparate home, find his wife and let the professionals handle it.
Besides, it was their ten-year anniversary, and a fine day to propose they celebrate the occasion — and every anniversary after — together.
00000
Hermione woke, sated from the previous night's activities and the resulting deep sleep afterward, stretching catlike under the silk sheets. She patted the other side of the bed, but found no Draco beside her. A quick glance around the room told her she was alone.
She frowned. Wouldn't Draco wait for her to wake, considering everything they'd said — and done — last night?
Then again, he'd probably worked up quite an appetite after last night as well. She heard Mrs. Tannenbaum's bold alto voice coming from the kitchen, and her own stomach grumbled. She'd bet a Galleon he was tucking into a hearty breakfast.
Hermione sat up, but her head spun and she flopped back down into the cosy bed. She closed her eyes and the events of the ball replayed in her mind. Her reunion with Ginny, her dance with Minister Podmore, the fight with Goyle. The incredible, heartfelt sex with her husband.
Gods, she needed to eat and drag him right back into bed with her. It was their wedding anniversary, after all. To think they could've been doing this for a decade if things had been different… But then again, they'd never have been together without the tragedies that threw them into each other's unwilling arms.
Arms. Her thoughts snagged on the bracelets Minister Podmore wore. AG.
Astoria Greengrass? Was Minister Podmore her father? It was too much of a coincidence. Maybe that would explain why the younger Greengrass was a Squib… It would certainly explain his crusade against those who would look down on people like his daughter.
She should tell Draco. She didn't think Podmore would put his career at risk and commit murder, but what if he'd somehow been involved with what happened to Narcissa and Astoria? What if he didn't want Astoria to join the Malfoy family?
You're like a daughter to me… That's what Podmore said last night. Had he known Astoria was his daughter before she died? Hermione ran her tongue over her teeth in contemplation. Something didn't add up, but she wasn't sure why.
A knock disturbed her revelation. "Hermione? Are you in there?"
Blaise. Her heart thundered in her chest. Was it her parents? It wasn't Christmas yet. Surely it wasn't time…
Please, she thought. Not yet.
"Just a moment!"
She transfigured herself some pyjamas out of the top sheet, adding the H.M. embroidery she'd perfected. Today was her wedding anniversary. She and Draco had been married for ten years. And now, she hoped for eleven and beyond.
"All good," she called, and Blaise opened the door. "Good morning."
"Good afternoon, you mean," he said, arching one eyebrow.
Hermione hoped she didn't blush. "Is everything okay?"
"With your parents? They're stable," he paused and approached her with slow steps. "I'm sorry. I didn't intend to scare you."
"I think every time we talk from now on, I'll be wondering," she said with a sad smile. "I can't help it."
He nodded. "That's understandable. I'm used to being the bearer of bad news. Though I wonder if I've found something that might avert that outcome."
A spark of hope lit in her heart. "What do you mean? I thought you'd concluded that this was it for them. We'd passed the point of no return."
"After I read your book, I spent some time at the Ministry archives. As you know, they maintain records of all the rare books known to wizardkind, some of which have only a few copies in existence. There's one in particular that caught my interest, and the records indicate it's within Apparating distance."
Hermione pushed past him into the bathroom. "Give me fifteen minutes."
00000
Draco Apparated into the flat and immediately called her name. No response.
He'd become accustomed to having her there, the whole flat suffused with her scent. The little reminders of her that once annoyed him to no end — the winding orange peels, the ridiculous amount of hair she left behind after a shower, the stacks of books on every available surface — had become talismans of good fortune. He'd even smiled to himself the other day when he discovered yet another of her half-empty teacups.
"Hermione," he said, knocking on the door to their shared bathroom. He twisted the knob and ducked his head inside. "Granger?"
Where was she?
Mrs. Tannenbaum emerged from Hermione's room, her face peeking out from behind the stack of linens in her arms. "Lady Malfoy's out."
"Out?"
"Healer Zabini needed her help with some research. There may be a breakthrough to help her parents. He said they wouldn't be gone long."
His shoulders relaxed, and his heartbeat returned to normal. "Ah, thank you. Hopefully, they return with good news."
Draco retired to his room, removing his greatcoat and setting his wand atop it. He warmed his hands by the fire, anxious for his wife to come home.