A/N: Thank you for your lovely feedback. Hey, scv914, welcome back, long time no see. ;-)
Here's the next installment. One more chapter, which I will likely post around Easter. Yes, the story is finished since it was written for a Valentine's fest and no, there won't be any "little Dracos", xena.
Happy reading
Eruption
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Chapter 2:
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Luck was on his side.
The next time Hermione ran – literally - into Malfoy, it was two weeks later at the Ministry. He steadied her with his hands on her arms and she shivered at the touch.
"Steady there, Granger."
The scent. His scent. Hermione inhaled the sharp and spicy smell that was so typical for Malfoy and that she had experienced to its fullest in his study. It was wonderful and cloying at the same time. Wonderful because she loved its tangy taste on her tongue and cloying because it reminded Hermione of her cheating.
And the fact that her body reacted to the wrong man.
And oh, how it reacted.
Her lips tingling at the memory of his frantic kisses and bites, making it impossible to ignore the sounds from her memory when he came, she couldn't do more than stare at Malfoy and swallow. And feel how tight her underpants were clinging to her bottom. Thank Morgana, she had put on the black lacy ones this morning.
Her eyes wide, she stared at his face. He looked almost delighted with his eyes glinting, that couldn't be right. Where was his usual sneer?
She ripped herself out of his steadying contact and stomped down the corridor without a second glance. She was so deep in shock over her involuntary reaction that she didn't pay his parting words any mind. She didn't hear his call of "Will I see you at the get-together later?" nor did she see his frown at the sight of her quickly retreating back.
Hermione didn't think until she had reached her office, slammed the door shut behind her, and sunk against the wood, sliding down to a sitting position.
Leaning her head against the dry, warm material, she thought back to her discussion with Ron the morning after the anniversary celebration at Malfoy Manor.
"Hermione, be serious. You want what?"
"I want us to work on our marriage. I'm intellectually and emotionally starving. With the children gone to Hogwarts, all we do is go to work and sit in front of the telly. What happened to us? I want talks. We only talk about the children. I want intimacy. I cannot connect to a man who doesn't look at me and doesn't talk to me."
"Stop being childish. What do you mean you're starving? Are you having your period? Are you pregnant? Oh, Merlin, I remember your early days of pregnancy. You were unbearable. But what delight when we had both kiddos, huh?"
Hermione was angry. Again. She wasn't even going to mention her indiscretion if Ron still saw her as a one-dimensional housewife. But now she felt trapped; trapped in the picture Ron had of her and trapped by the fact that she had cheated, which was wrong. She couldn't really regret it, though, because it had been good and she deserved goodness.
Ron would never understand the subtleties of what happened and it would only make him miserable and her guilty. It wasn't her fault alone that she was so susceptible to another man's advances, but it certainly wouldn't help if she confessed to Ron. It was an accident and would not happen again. She couldn't change the past. But she could work on her future with Ron.
And so, she took a deep breath and, through her anger, focused on her mission alone. "No, Ron, that's not it. I'm not pregnant nor will I ever be again. If you remember, a mummy and a daddy need to have sex before the mummy becomes pregnant. Do you remember the last time? I don't. And I'm done with kids, I told you that. Hugo is eleven and I'm forty."
She didn't know why his disappointed look still hurt. He knew she hadn't wanted any more children. Just because he had grown up in a house full of children – a fact he never neglected to complain about – didn't mean she was going to become a baby factory. Oh, no, after two, she needed to use her brain again for other things than talking about nappy rash.
Perhaps it was some guilt. But she knew it was a matter of her already dysfunctional marriage that she had let herself go in another man's arms. Yes, she had made a mistake. But she wasn't going to blame herself to kingdom come over it. She wasn't going to let it slide either, lest she repeat. Once was an accident. But if you did it again, then you had some serious character issues.
But the fact that Ron's ears became beet-red angered her beyond comprehension. What was he thinking, being shy about sex with his wife? She realized in that moment, there was no way she would ever have a healthy sex life with her husband again without serious work on her part. Sisyphus work.
Ron apparently hadn't noticed her rising anger because he didn't mind enraging her further.
"Honestly, Hermione, what do you want me to do? Enact one of your silly fantasies? Do you know how embarrassing that is? Do you know how silly I feel? You can't be serious."
He ignored the fact that Hermione's face paled even though her anger reached a dangerous threshold. He ploughed on, directly into his relationship grave.
"I've been indulgent with your wish to go to work. I knew you wouldn't be satisfied with sitting at home, busy-body that you are. But do you think there would be any other man who bears your working hours and picks up your slack with the kids? Who is left sitting alone each night because you can't find the exit over your oh-so-important work?"
Hermione felt her feet grow cold. He dug right where it hurt the most: the fact that she thought her work was important but at the moment was going nowhere – something that peeved her endlessly. Along with the fact that he wanted her to be the good housewife and she just couldn't see herself as one. Either he didn't know her at all or too well – but then, he wasn't really malicious, was he?
"Ron!" she whispered warningly. He ignored it, to his own peril.
"All you needed to do was keep yourself busy at home. That shouldn't be too difficult. What do you have your big brain for? Find something to do. And then, you would be on hand when I came back and have dinner on time, like my mother always did. Do you think my mum gets bored? Never. She always had her hands full and got herself very well organised. As for complaining about your work: you didn't need to bog yourself down over it if you just stayed at home. Wouldn't that solve all problems?"
The coldness spread up her legs and into her stomach.
At her lack of response, Ron came towards her. "Don't be mad. I'm just sick and tired of listening to you complain about a job that you really don't need to do. We are comfortable, aren't we?"
Hermione was too stunned to point out to him that she was the better-paid breadwinner in her position. The coldness in her had reached her lungs and she couldn't breathe. Ron jabbered on.
"I love you and you love me. Let's not fight over who we are, hm? Perhaps you should take some time off work, so we can spend some more time together. There's … Quidditch. Harry's asked me for ages to go with him and Ginny. We'll make it a foursome trip and have a great time. And you'll forget a bit about your work, relax, and take better care of your husband, hm?"
The cold reached her heart. If her husband suggested Quidditch for her to relax and taking care of her husband then, apparently, he didn't know her at all. It made her feel ice-cold and too paralysed to say anything but:
"Out, Ron. Get out!"
"What…?"
"GET OUT!"
Hermione let her head sink to her knees.
Ron had been incensed but moved back to his parents temporarily; he had complained loudly while packing his bags that there was no talking to her in her state and what was it with women in their forties? Arthur and Molly had been less than pleased over the situation, as had their friends. Hermione had had no time to come to terms with her life because of the stress and pressure of her fight with Ron.
Harry had stood on her doorstep the same afternoon to ask what was going on. And when she'd tried to explain it to her best friend, all she'd received was a reproving raised eyebrow. She'd sent him on his way until he was able to understand her side, which had left a hollow feeling in her stomach.
But now, faced with the other participant of the faux-pas which kicked off her entire situation, her body reacted to Malfoy's closeness with a racing heart, a tingling apex, and a longing for liberation that could only be satisfied in one way and he was going to be at the socialising later, which she couldn't skip. She was in trouble.
As expected, the get-together was finished in short order. Hermione wasn't even quite sure what Malfoy was doing there because he didn't work at the Ministry. She assumed he had come on Astoria's behalf.
However, when she saw Malfoy at the other end of the room she drifted closer and closer like the moon pulled in orbit, helped by the fact that he moved inconspicuously in her direction. As soon as she had reached him, he had grabbed her hand and pulled her with him to her office where he had snogged the living daylights out of her, much to her delight, as soon as the door closed.
She clung to the collar of his robes, unable to decide whether to push him away or pull him closer. She knew this was wrong, but the sensation of his kiss was so good. So good, in fact, that when he pulled back to breath she followed his movement for a bit and made a dissatisfied moue when he separated.
He chuckled. "By Merlin's nine lives, Granger. I need to breathe. I'm not letting go."
Subsequently, he hoisted her up and she slung her legs around him, and they kept snogging against the door until he carried her over to her desk. She didn't put in any resistance, thinking about lost causes, when he'd sat her down and positioned himself between her legs, where, lying back, she came as soon as he entered her. The only thing that registered consciously through the mist of pleasure was the fact that he trembled and moaned the same way as that night in Malfoy Manor under her hands when she climaxed and he shot hot semen into her mere seconds later. And so they stayed, temporarily sated but not quite satisfied.
Until he murmured in her ear, "Granger, you need to carry a warning sign. 'Do not enter; you may never want to leave again'."
She chuckled hilariously. Until he said the next thing.
"Come home with me."
She only hesitated for a second. They were breaking all the rules anyway. A Malfoy and a Muggle-born shouldn't be together.
Their relationship was explosive and that was a good thing.
They were both married and they didn't care.
And their shagging was so liberating that they needed more of it.
Looking at them, Hermione shivered in delight: two sweaty delirious people who were far from done for the night. She needed this, this resetting of her convoluted brain waves.
Recklessly, she consented. I wouldn't be doing this if Ron kept me satisfied. It's his own fault. Why do I always have to do all the work between us? He should know what I like after 18 years, she thought.
Driven by her longing for the complete fulfilment she'd experienced in Malfoy's arms, resulting from the explosion of epic proportions, it so happened that she snuck off to the Floos separately, but reuniting with Malfoy right there and they went together through, only to fall out on the other end already in another heated kiss. Before Hermione could stand and brush herself off, Malfoy had already snatched her up and apparated her to a room somewhere in the Manor. The pull feeling in her stomach could have been a side effect of the apparition or for entirely different reasons.
He deposited her on the edge of a bed. At her inquiring gaze, he explained: "My room. Not my married suite but my boyhood room."
He didn't give her any time to over-think things. She wasn't very inclined to do so in any case, as she'd already followed him willingly to his house, delirious with want. And, oh, how he made her not regret her impulsive, reckless action.
She let him dispose of her clothes quickly and douse her entire body in tender attentions. Nooks and corners she didn't know she had were sensitive and reacted to his tongue, his lips, his teeth, and his fingertips: the outside of her breast, the inside of her elbow, the instep of her feet, the pad of her hand, the area right below her navel. His hot breath over her moistened skin contributed to her already heated body temperature.
She felt as if she was broiling in her skin, doused in her own flushes. The glorious feeling when he entered her again was almost a relief even though she had already climaxed three times. The glorious feeling of connecting her body passionately with another body, the unequivocal surrender to the moment and the rewarding eruption of her wants and desires in reaction to letting go of all bindings made her delirious with satisfaction. She tightened her legs around his back and pulled him in to his intensifying moans.
Hermione didn't hear Malfoy's grunts over her own whimpers and moans and screams of his name and her delight when she came. She couldn't feel anything but the oneness with the universe when she broke apart into a million tiny shards, like lava pieces spewing from a heathen mouth, covering her world in smouldering ashes.
It took many minutes before her focus had come back to earth and was narrow enough to recognize the man draped over her relaxed body. She recognized the blond head that had sent terror to her heart when she was young and had now become the sun in her ever-expanding universe.
"Stay the night," he whispered when he felt her stirring.
Hermione didn't feel that she could move if she tried, her muscles and bones a mush of satisfied tissue. Perhaps things would be easier in the morning. There was nobody waiting for her at home.
"Okay" she said and let herself sink into oblivion.
Draco found himself alone when he awoke the next morning. After a moment of disorientation, he was surprised that he felt utterly disappointed that he was alone. What had Granger done to him that he somehow missed her presence and felt let down?
When he had accosted her the previous night, his only thought was to hit on her again and take her home to make her his. She had been more than willing and he had already mentally triumphed that he owned her. The fact that Ronald Weasley had moved out of the house and that Harry Potter was a little miffed at Hermione Granger was no secret. The wizarding world was like a babbling gossip pot. Nothing was safe for longer than two minutes.
He wasn't sure if she'd confessed her cheating or if she'd cleaned the table in her rotten marriage, but it was either way to him. They were apparently splitting, making the Weasel miserable and Granger inclined to shag him again. What more could a good enemy want?
Nevertheless, when he had shagged her on her desk he had been entirely taken by this delicious feeling of being in her and of Granger's reddened cheeks and throat in the throes of abandonment and surrender to the lust. It pulled pleasure from his toes all the way up to the crown of his head.
And she hadn't stopped him. She had let him explore every part of her body, which was sweet to the touch and taste and been very pliable to his desires. They had tried out more than one position and he had been surprised that she went willingly. Draco had been more than stunned how she pulled him in, deep, deep into her heat, surrendering her body as if he had never done her any harm. She drew him into her until he couldn't stand the tension of her power over his pleasure anymore and erupted, shattering all pre-conceived notions about superiority.
He had come more than once with loud grunts and moans, just fucking, fucking, fucking her into the mattress.
And now he couldn't stop thinking about how he could get her for another time.
Infatuation was the word. There could be no other woman like this.
It wasn't the lack of a morning-after shag alone that made him disappointed. Sated and exhausted after numerous explorations, he had scooped her in his arms to fall asleep. She hadn't protested because she had already been out cold.
Hermione Granger- he refused to call her Weasley- fit very nicely in his arms, and her soft skin, her shapely form and her sweet smell had been very enticing when he fell asleep. As a result, he had slept well and was well rested for the first time in a long while. Doused in their mutual smells and completely spent and relaxed he hadn't felt this good in years, if ever, cuddled up to a witch who should by all rights repel him.
Which she didn't. Decidedly not.
In fact, rubbing his shoulders comfortably into the rumpled sheets, stretching out his sore muscles, he deliberated how he could keep having this with Hermione, for acting his revenge out on them, of course, and shaking off his useless frigid wife at the same time, which clung to the Lady Malfoy title as if attached with a sticking charm. Just now, she was off doing Merlin-knew-what in her function as Lady Malfoy, which was why he had to go in her stead to the Ministry the previous night. At first, he hadn't been happy because he was not on good speaking terms with the Ministry. Then Granger had run into him. He smirked at the thought of how she had looked like a caught doxy: wide eyed and entirely paralysed.
Draco knew Hermione Granger would never agree to an affair, even though she obviously reacted to him. In the long term, her conscience would win out and she would stop their exchanges.
Why couldn't Astoria just be persuaded to cheat on him, find a lover, be paid off and done with it? Scorpius wouldn't be happy, but he wasn't happy with their indifference and cold distance anyway. Besides, Scorpius was at Hogwarts now, most of the year. Thank Merlin. Draco thought in all his years, he never figured it could be warmer at Hogwarts' dungeons than at home.
A light went on in his mind: he could use Granger's help for his work. Her systematic, well-organized mind would surely see the problem in his conception, where he didn't see the forest for the trees.
If he proposed to Granger that she come to work with him - the purpose of his research and potion would surely sway her - he would be in close quarters with her for a long time to come. Given their recent reactions to each other's presence perhaps he could just let nature take its course.
He could keep shagging her, goody, and break her and the weasel up for good; constant adultery did that to a marriage. By acting out his revenge, he could rid himself of his wife when she found out. He didn't mind paying her off, as long as she was gone – so far, he hadn't seen the point. It had made no difference to him whether Astoria was there or not. On top of everything, he would have Granger solve his problem and find his long sought potion and he would play the knight in shining armour when he would console her over her break-up. And get more shagging out if it.
Yes! Perfect plan if he was saying so himself. Salazar would be proud of him.
The shagging, especially, appealed to him.
It was a little unnerving.
He was quite certain that he wouldn't ever be able to pass her again in the Ministry hallways without trying to pull her into a secluded spot to shag her senseless. His overwhelming reaction to flashbacks of the erotic images of Granger when she was aroused would make that impossible. Flashes of heat went over his body at the thoughts of her moans and bites and flushed soft skin and the feeling of her sheathed around and moving with him. It made him grab his prick firmly in his hands.
He quelled the cautious little voice in the back of his mind, which tried to warn him that his plan for revenge could backfire spectacularly if he became anymore infatuated. Imagining just a fraction of their actions from the previous night, he drowned it out in another orgasm at the memory of the heat between them.
It was time to take action.
Hermione was broken up. Sitting on her sofa the morning after over a steaming mug of tea, she was torn between doing the right thing and doing the right thing.
The right thing to do would be to kick Malfoy to the curb, reconcile with Ron, and buckle up and be a good wife. However, there was a clench around her heart whenever she thought that; an ice-cold hand squeezing her life-giving muscle to the point of suffocation. It hurt.
It had also hurt like hell to tell her children that mummy and daddy couldn't be together anymore. To see their incredulous faces when they had come home for the weekend to find daddy gone – she'd take a Cruciatus any day.
Facing Harry's and Molly's anger and Ron's listlessness left her hot and cold; hot in anger over her nincompoop friends who didn't want to understand her side of it; and cold around the heart over the fact that the love of her life was over. And that Ron had never understood what she truly wanted. That he still believed all she needed was to take care of him like any good wife.
"But I love you," he had said desperately when they met to discuss their separation.
"You don't love me," she had scoffed, angry over Molly's disapproving scowl when she had entered the Burrow. "You love the idea of a witch who caters to your every wish. Like your mother. So far, I was smart enough to manage even though it's really not my main focus. Well, I've got news for you. I'm equally tired of it as you are of hearing me whine."
Her 'thing' with Malfoy, on the other hand, made her temperature soar and her face flush when she only thought about it. About the huffing groans he made when moving in her. About the surprisingly tender attention to her body last night.
But she couldn't have stayed. She had been unable to leave due to her satisfied weakness right after, but staying to the morning, waking up and having breakfast together, was equivalent to saying it was right when it wasn't.
He wasn't her man.
He loathed her.
He had taunted her all her life.
Then why did it feel so right?
Morgana, the exploding heat when she climaxed with him; the way she blew all circuits when coming, re-setting her overactive brain; the feeling of literally breaking apart, breaking out of her entrapment, breaking all the rules, breaking free. When she came, she wanted to pull him into her, imbibe him, make him part of her, swallow him whole, install him permanently in her, make him cover her nakedness forever like the hot ashes covering the earth.
Because it felt so right. She'd never felt that way with Ron. This had to be right.
Could they start anew? Forget old hurts? Cross their drawn borders? Meet in the middle, on fertile grounds? Did she want it?
Stretching out on her sofa, with her sated body clearing her mind, Hermione decided, even if she couldn't quite answer those questions, that she was done with being told what to do. She was done with living up to everybody's expectations and being the golden standard: Harry, Molly, and every Tom, Dick and Harry in the street, trying to tell her how she should behave as the war heroine and wife of Ronald side-kick Weasley.
Since he was in her thoughts more often than not, Hermione wasn't entirely shocked when Draco Malfoy knocked on her door a few days later.
"Malfoy."
"Granger."
This time, she didn't correct him. It was uncertain how much longer she would be called 'Weasley'. Molly was still angry, but she couldn't live her life according to Molly's standards.
"What are you doing here?" she asked wearily.
He frowned. "Is it so unusual that I've come to see you?"
Hermione raised a cynical eyebrow. "Well, yes."
The regular sneer made its way in Malfoy's face, only to turn back to a frown.
"Even after the last two times we met?" he asked mumbling.
Hermione shook her head. It was clear Malfoy was trying to be amicable so as to not repel her. However, he was not going to get her compliance just because she couldn't control her libido around him.
"What do you want?" she asked warily.
"I have a proposition for you. May I come in?" Draco tried to be as non-aggravating as possible. If he wanted to win Granger for his plan, he had to stop enraging her.
Only the fact that she'd shared bodily fluids with him – more than once – made Hermione open her door and let her former enemy enter. "I was just about to make tea. Would you like some?"
The glance he gave her could only be called controlled non-sneering. He did have manners, however, and managed to say, "That would be… lovely."
When they sat over their steaming mugs of tea at her kitchen table, Hermione thought how strange it was that Draco Malfoy sat quietly in her kitchen. The only thing that seemed to connect them, and that only recently, was the fact that they were able to shag like rabbits, but that didn't seem to be on his mind in that moment, staring into his tea as if the secrets of the world were drowning in there.
She nudged him verbally, "Well, Malfoy?"
"Do you know what I do for work?" he asked carefully, uncertain how to bring her to the point of consent. Only the fact that he had trained himself not to spout any insults at Granger, made it possible to have some kind of civil conversation. And the fact that he thought constantly about her soft skin and how it felt pressed up against his.
She shrugged. "Governing your family companies?" Where was Draco going with this, she wondered. What did he want? Sex was the only thing she could think off. Did he want her to become his mistress? Yeah, not bloody likely.
He snorted. "Yes and no. Father is still doing that, from his exile in France. He gave me a healthy part to spread my wings on but didn't leave the entire thing in my "immature" hands, as he put it."
Hermione snorted back. "Are you still paying a mind to what your father says, honestly? You are almost forty years old, married, have an heir, and I'm sure with your intelligence you are quite able to do your work sufficiently. What does your father want, for crying out loud? A second Lucius?"
Malfoy looked at her with mixed emotions. It felt uncomfortable that other people could see so clearly what was going on between him and his father. On the other hand, this was Hermione Granger, and it felt somehow comforting to bathe in her reprobation. "You know, that's exactly what he wants."
Hermione snorted again. "And what exactly does that mean?"
Malfoy's face fell into a bitter frown. Why did she have to hit the point always so accurately that he was compelled to answer? Nobody else asked those questions of him.
"Well, for one, the married and creating an heir part. Further, carrying on his legacy of pureblood traditions and…" He hesitated.
"Yes?" Hermione inquired.
"And he wants me to set my mark on our world the way he has done with his meddling in politics," Malfoy grumbled.
Hermione laughed heartily. "Well, good luck with that. I hope with all my heart that you won't become any more like him. There are enough similarities, but luckily, you are still quite different."
Malfoy looked as if a Beater's bat had smacked him in the middle of his face. "I believe that's the nicest thing anybody ever said to me."
Hermione scoffed. "Figures."
When she saw his face and how a dozen emotions fought their way to the surface, she re-considered her outburst and said with more empathy, "I'm sorry to hear that."
She tried to reach a hand across the table top to put it on top of his, the way she would have done with any of her friends, but considered otherwise. He was not one of her friends. He had always been repelled by her Muggle-born heritage, and even though they had shared their bodies, she wasn't sure if he would appreciate a friendly, deliberate touch. He might consider it condescending.
Malfoy looked at her hand in the middle of the table as if it was a foreign object. Then he stretched out his hand and, drawn by the memory of her soft heated skin, he put his index finger under the opening between her thumb and fingers, until their thumbs touched. He stroked once, twice over her arch on the inside of her palm almost as if it didn't count if nobody could see it from the outside. Nevertheless, she'd felt it, of course, and was once more surprised at the unexpected tenderness of his actions. Perhaps it wasn't all lost with Draco Malfoy.
Hermione surveyed him with narrowed eyes. There was a man who tried to aspire to something through his own achievement and had been slighted at every turn, not for lack of wealth, but for adhering to traditions that didn't really mean anything except repeating mistakes from the past. A man who was fighting his own demons and who didn't know how to behave towards her because he had been told all his life that she was supposed to be inferior and now he found she was not.
"How about," she ventured carefully, treading uncertain waters, "setting your mark in the world for something that everybody can respect?"
His head snapped up. "Like what?" Did she just provide his opening?
She shrugged. "I don't know. Something that will help everybody. I know it's very unlikely for you, but that would say something."
Draco stared. The world was turning in circles. He had just thought about how to get Hermione Granger to help him while continuing his plan of ruining the golden couple. And here in her kitchen she had given him the advice he had found for himself and so far had been unsuccessful to follow through with. He swallowed. He was not superstitious and Professor Trelawney had been an old fraud if there ever was one, so Divination was really not his thing, but this was too close to home to be ignored.
"Granger-" He hesitated again but then gave himself a push and finally told her what was on his mind. "I took over a Malfoy Enterprise branch that creates potions. I have a particular interest in research for magical maladies. I've looked into Muggle medicine and realized that even without magic, they know how to counteract many diseases. With our magic, we should be able to do so much more. Especially where it comes to magical madness."
Hermione looked at him stunned. Was he thinking of the same madness she was thinking about? A glance from him confirmed it. His grey orbs hard as steel, he said through clenching jaws, "You were there. She was far from my favourite aunt, but she was still family. If I can right some of the damage she caused, perhaps the nightmares will stop and I can sleep better at night."
"Draco!" Hermione exclaimed, using his first name for the first time in their acquaintance, and pulling her hand back as if it had been stung. Was he actually trying to make amends?
He looked down. "Yes, I know, too little too late. But I have to try. Only I'm stuck. I think I have all the necessary ingredients, but I can't get them to interact and I don't know why."
After her shock, Hermione was intrigued. Solving enigmas was her favourite past-time.
"What's happening?"
A little irritated, talking about his potential failure, Malfoy was still trying to speak in a tolerable way and explained: "Well, the way Muggles tackle madness is by focusing on the imbalance in the brain. We know that's the cause. The overload of magical current causes the brain to tilt off balance with no way to right itself again. We've believed magical madness to be irreversible, so no one's ever tried doing anything except throwing more magic at it, which likely only made it worse." He paused to take a deep breath.
"But Muggles found a way. There's no cure all, but they've made amazing progress getting Muggles out of their brain induced haze. So, I thought, why shouldn't it be possible with magical madness? It's just a matter of finding the right concoction and magic. We know ways to counter confounding and befuddlements. We have wit-sharpening draughts and ones for clarity of mind. Magical Madness is just a deeper state of confusion"
Hermione was more than intrigued. Her face lit up at the prospect of this puzzle, the worthy cause, and hearing about unexplored avenues of magical research.
"Well, I believe, it's a bit deeper than that, but listening to you talking, yes, I agree, it should be possible to find a cure," she said beaming.
"But I'm stuck," Malfoy continued with a frown. "One element is missing and I can't find it. It's a jungle of ingredients and they don't want to go together."
"What's in it?"
Malfoy took a deep breath. "I based it on wit-sharpening potion, but there are two elements to it. One is to bring clarity to the affected mind and two is to draw out or put the affecting dark magic to rest. For that reason, I added dragon blood for its mind strengthening and healing powers, uses five and seven of the twelve uses of dragon blood. Further, Armadillo bile, of course, Wiggentree bark, Sopophorus beans, a hint of Scurvy grass, as a marker against the befuddlement, ginger root, Shrivelfig, regurgitated Milkthistle and Dandelion to rid the mind of the toxic magic and as an agent against the death cap poison, which I need to drive out the magic from the affected tissue, arnica, Wormwood, Vinegar, Salt, Sulphur Vive, Sal Ammoniac, garlic, shredded horn of a unicorn, egg of the Runespoor, honey water and mint sprigs for the taste and to contain the side effects of the wormwood, powered moonstone to open and invigorate the mind, Mandrake root and lionfish spine, leech juice, fluxweed and a piece of dragon liver, Dittany and billywig sting, sardine oil and salamander blood, in that order. And Silverweed and Snakeweed against the burning side effects of the swallowed potion."
Hermione had listened with increasing attention. "Why Scurvy Grass and not Sneezewort as a Befuddlement marker?" she asked when he'd finished.
Draco shook his head. "Too strong. You would need powered Snake fangs to counter the Sneezewort and that would nullify the awakening effect of the Mandrake root."
Hermione nodded. "And turn the wormwood into the deadening, not the euphoric version. You're right. Do you use Starthistle?"
Draco shook his head with a smirk. "No, Silver Milkthistle. I'm Slytherin, remember?"
She grinned.
"Yes, I remember. How did you come up with the idea to use an egg of the Runespoor in addition to the unicorn horn?"
Draco looked smug. "Well, while the Runespoor egg is commonly known to increase the mental agility of the drinker, as well as the purification effect of anything to do with unicorns, it is only documented in a very old diary of my great-great-grandfather Cygnus Malfoy that you can use the shredded, not powered, horn to pull the healing effects of the Wiggentree bark and the mind strengthening effect of the dragon blood together into a strong mind healing draught. One of the widely unknown powers of unicorn parts."
An appreciative eyebrow went up in Hermione Granger's face and an excited smile stole its way on her face.
"Draco, that is an ingenious piece of magic."
Draco grinned. "Thank you. I knew you would be able to appreciate this."
Hermione was already deep in thought about the potion and its potential. She waved his compliment away and said, "Yes, yes, but don't you think you should add the Dittany before the Mandrake root to aid the extended mind healing effect?"
Draco shook his head with a frown. "I've tried it. The whole potion curled up in one of Longbottom's balls, I'm not ashamed to admit. It was worth a trial, but that got me nowhere. Now, imagine adding the Shrivelfig and then stirring counter-clockwise. It would turn the potion red instead of green and the following Milkthistle may be better absorbed into the magic. I need to write that down." He patted his pockets for a piece of parchment.
Hermione took a piece out of a kitchen drawer and slid it over to him.
"Here," she said. "Self-filling quills are behind you."
While watching him jot down his idea in his organized writing, her thoughts were already on to the next possibility.
"Have you thought about adding the Dittany right after the Runespoor egg and before the Mandrake root? It would turn the potion green and make the salamander blood diffuse better into mixture," she mused.
Draco couldn't suppress a smile at seeing her enthusiasm. With her gleaming eyes and her face a little flushed over the excitement of finding and creating new magic, he thought she looked almost beautiful. She was clearly concocting a potion in her mind, looking about her kitchen as if the recipe was written all over her walls, she even moved her hands in clockwise and counter-clockwise turns, depending on her thoughts.
Looking at her expressive face, Draco felt absolutely certain that he was doing the right thing in that moment. Not to mention that Hermione Granger had turned out to make an incredibly arousing bed partner on occasion. His plan for revenge aside, if he could use Granger's brain for finding the solution to his cure he would be world-famous, and so would she. He didn't even mind sharing with her. And that didn't concern him as much as it should have.
There was just one problem. He needed to know.
"Why did you separate from Weasley? He loves you. In the end he would have forgiven you or he's even more of a git than I always tell him."
Pulled out of her working mind, Hermione shook her head. "Love is a battle field - but it shouldn't be a war." She lowered her head. "And I've been warring."
Draco felt entirely on thin ice with this conversation, but was intrigued against his will. "What against?"
She shook her head again, as if she could rid herself of her reason to war by shaking it off. "Against being forced to live a life that's not mine."
There was a potent second of silence after her words. When they looked at each other, the widening of his eyes reflected the epiphany in her eyes. They both understood what she'd said at the same time. He barked a short laugh at her ironic reason. When she covered her face in her hands to hide her blush, he reached over the table to pull one of her hands to him. He chuckled when he saw her discomfort over her realization.
"Honestly, Granger."
She pulled her hand out of his in embarrassment, which sobered him immediately. It wasn't really funny. And he felt the lack of touch like a slap. He had come to her with a purpose. There was a purpose. It was time to lay the cards on the table.
"Help me, Granger."
"What?" Despite her intrigue, Hermione was surprised that he would ask for her help.
"I need a brain like yours to find the missing element. Please." He got up and came around the table to stand next to her.
Hermione hesitated. What about her work, even though it was stuck in bureaucracy? And could she trust Malfoy enough not to exploit her own contribution and take all the credit?
His next words proved his sincerity. He took her hand again to make her look at him, and stroked her palm. She inhaled sharply at the unexpected sensation.
He stepped into her space and held his mouth next to her temple and whispered in her ear, "Help me find the cure. Think of Longbottom's parents."
She shivered at his closeness.
His next whisper swayed her: "Earn your own spurs. Make your mark in our world through your passion for knowledge, for magic. Make yourself unforgettable."
Passion. Passion was the key word.
On a sharp exhale, she turned her head and found him already looking at her, eyes smouldering dark as storm clouds. She heard her heartbeat thrumming in her ears. Passion.
That was what had been missing in her life. Passion for her work. Passion for her love. Passion for her life. And purpose.
Running with Harry had been life or death. Surviving. Escaping fear and suppression, barbaric times, torture and pain. They had fought with a passion for their survival and their right to use magic despite their heritage. In times of peace, passion was what propelled people forward and gave them purpose.
She didn't even know how her lips had ended on his. She only knew that she had moved. She had claimed.
Hermione was claiming passion for her life again.
The rut was over.
Well.
Except for the movements on her kitchen table.
The next few months were spent with passionate creativity. She had quit her job and started working at Malfoy's potion company. On her first day, he had shown her to her office with her new desk that they christened half an hour after she'd arrived. She had been flustered and wondered about the impression she was leaving with the other colleagues, but nobody had said a word after they'd seen her working.
The first time she had left her office and research, going to the laboratory to check the ingredients and their origin, Malfoy had joined her there and introduced her as the new head of project. He had made it clear, much to her embarrassment that they were all, in his words to 'defer to her superb knowledge and follow her every command'. Then her new colleagues had witnessed the speed, accuracy, and precision with which their new head of project and CEWiz (Chief Executive Wizard) were working together.
Malfoy was not above working in the laboratory with his staff. His love of potion making kept him from being shut away behind a massive desk. The staff knew him well and respected his expertise. However, when they saw him exchanging bits of knowledge tit-for-tat with Hermione, their respect skyrocketed.
"Did you stir the Armadillo bile in counter clockwise?" Hermione asked.
"Three times clockwise, then five times counter clockwise, yes. With a silver spoon."
"Good. How did you cut the ginger root?"
"In squares, then rectangles, as per instruction by Harmonius Cudweight, for the preparation of Draught of Clarity."
Hermione nodded. "The garlic, where did it come from?"
"Transylvania, as per recommendation of Madam Pomfrey. Transylvanian garlic is the best."
Hermione was stunned. "You asked Madam Pomfrey for help?"
Malfoy smirked. "Only the best."
Hermione grinned. "I take that as a compliment."
Malfoy nodded. "Please do."
"Which version of regurgitated Milkthistle did you use?"
"Pooped out by three-days-old baby birds."
Hermione eyebrow went up. "That one is certainly the most effective, but almost impossible to come by."
Malfoy smirked. "Not for me."
Hermione smirked back.
Week after week, captured in the thrill of discovery, through trial and error they worked their way through every possible combination of potion ingredients and magic, only to come up empty on the other end. But it didn't deter them. With zeal they went at it again and again, working quickly, speaking rarely, and only to exchange instructions for the partner, which were usually completed before the sentence was finished. They worked in perfect synchronicity, which was beautiful to behold and left their laboratory colleagues in awe.
Additionally, working side by side, it happened from time to time that a passing of a silver knife ended in a prolonged touch, or the wordless confirmation of a successfully concluded process concluded in a warm smile. It was obvious that both partners enjoyed this level of commitment to their work very much.
They were the first to come and last to leave, never demanding the same work ethic from their colleagues, and if they disappeared every once in a while and re-appeared with red cheeks, swollen lips, and skewed clothing, the laboratory staff didn't mind looking the other way. They respected their boss and his vision.
There were times when Draco and Hermione fought like cat and dog over the tiniest lapses. But despite their subsequent fuming, their accuracy was never compromised.
Even the unlikelihood of the connection between their bosses didn't lessen their impression that this working team was a happy coincidence. If the glances Draco Malfoy sent Hermione Granger on the sly were any indication, then deep seated satisfaction was what he found with her.
Still, there were times when all air went out of them. The constant circle of trial and error tired even the most zealous of researchers.
"This is the fiftieth concoction that we've tried and yet…" Hermione said, frustrated.
"I know."
"I was so sure that adding the Armadillo bile after the dragon blood would help the flobberworm mucus thicken the potion."
"It did."
"We are running out of options."
"I know."
"We can't be. There has to be another solution. What did we not look at?"
"I don't know."
"What would Severus have done?" she mused, tipping her chin.
That got his attention. "Severus?"
"Yes. He was a genius with regards to potions."
"I know, but I thought you regarded him as a two-faced spy and tormentor of your childhood."
"Oh, he was far from pleasant, but that doesn't take away from the fact that he found ways to spectacularly improve potions by the time he was in his sixth year. How did you think I knew about squeezing the Sopophorous bean with the side of the silver blade? Ingenious, really."
Malfoy was stunned. "How did you know?"
Hermione smirked. "I saw his sixth year textbook."
The smile Malfoy sent her could only be described as blinding. Just like that, Hermione felt highly motivated again to sit down and try to get into her old potions master's mind.
It wasn't unusual that after everybody else had gone Malfoy stood beside her in the laboratory, or one of their offices, and attacked her neck or throat with frantic kisses. The same kind of greedy, fierce kisses they had exchanged their first time in his study. At times, it didn't go further than heated snogging until he let go, panting hard against her skin. At other times, he pulled Hermione closer to his body until he could enter her in one of multiple positions they had tried out. And she always let him. Not only let him, but encouraged him with equally fierce kisses and moans because the heat from his body, from the friction and their passion warmed her clammy bones.
Her friends and family still weren't happy with her because of her separation from Ron. She still received the cold treatment from those who considered her ungrateful or too big for her boots. Molly in particular gave her the cold shoulder the way she had done in fourth year when she believed Hermione was toying with Harry's heart.
But they were making made some progress. Ginny stood by her and gave her mother an earful each time she witnessed Molly's ire. And the other day, Harry had come to talk once more.
"Malfoy, Hermione. How can you work with Malfoy? After all he's done to us?"
"It's not the working with Malfoy alone that's so intriguing. We are working on a cure for the madness side effect from the Cruciatus curse. Harry, can you imagine what it would mean when we find it?"
"If you find it. With Malfoy."
"Will you stop harping about Malfoy? He's not so bad. He's a very diligent potion maker. And, unlike you, without instructions from a genius potioneer." Hermione blushed a little. That wasn't Malfoy's only quality and it was a little unfair to rub Harry's face in the fact that he was not as good.
Harry had seen her blush and ignored her distraction. His eyebrows shot up and his mouth fell in a gape. "You're sleeping with him. Hermione, are you sleeping with Malfoy!?" he exclaimed.
Hermione couldn't hold a secret. Not to her best friend. "Yes."
Harry wasn't sure whether to be flabbergasted or upset. "Are you honestly telling me that you gave up your life with Ron to sleep with Malfoy?"
Hermione frowned. "There wasn't much to give up on anymore, to be honest. Harry, I didn't do it lightly. I didn't get up one day and tell myself 'Oh, let's go sleep with Malfoy and throw my family away.'"
That sobered Harry. "Then how was it?"
"It, oh, alright, I did sleep with him one day. But it was an accident. I didn't plan it. It overcame both of us. There was no foul play. We were fighting and aggravating each other as we always do and then all of a sudden we were kissing and we couldn't stop. It was so good, Harry, it was so everything I was missing and could never get otherwise. And then I couldn't turn back. I couldn't stay away. And then he came to me with his proposal to work together on his potion, and I just had to take it. Imagine what it will mean for everybody when we find the cure for one of the gruesome curses of Voldemort's regime. How it would boost morale." Hermione stopped briefly to tousle her hair in upset, which made it stand even further on edge.
"I didn't do it for the sex, Harry, please understand. I was going out of my mind with Ron, stuck with his desire to turn me into a housewife."
One sober look at his desperate best friend close to tears convinced Harry in the end. Hermione was the epitome of thoughtful. She didn't do lightly. She didn't do weak. He believed that she hadn't betrayed Ron without a second thought. She must have berated herself endlessly. Her brain processed ten times as many thoughts as his, so he didn't even want to imagine what had gone through her mind. If in the end she had gone this way, then the other way must have been really wrong. And she was still his best friend.
So, he pulled her close at her shoulders. "Be careful, Hermione," he whispered in her hair. "Don't let him crush you. But if he does, I'll be here to help."
Hermione returned the embrace with a passion. "I will," she whispered back, answering each of his statements. "I won't. Thank you, Harry."
With her heart a lot lighter because of Harry's acceptance, she returned to the lab where, finally, after weeks and weeks of checking ingredients and process methods and months of doing and re-doing the potion recipe, one night, when Malfoy came up to her in the laboratory, it clicked in Hermione's brain.
Her body immediately seized at his closeness, preparing itself for whatever he was going to do. Thinking of the way he had once taken her from behind over the lab table, to the detriment of some vials with harmless premature states of potion, and how hot it had become in the small enclosure of her table and surrounding shelves when they both came with a guttural scream that would have everybody else come running if they hadn't been alone, Hermione made the connection when he bent over her and she felt his warm breath at her temple.
"Heat."
He pulled back. "Pardon?"
"Heat, Draco. It's missing heat, at the exact time of the fusion of magic and potion."
He frowned sceptically. "But we're brewing it in a heated cauldron already, of course."
"Yes," she conceded. "But it's not enough to make the ingredients and the magic connect. To accelerate the vibrations of the magic with the ingredients in the potion, to bring them up to the same vibration as the catalyst, to swing in unison with the magic weaving through, we need extra energy. Two people doing two different spells. One the binding. The other the heat. Exactly at the moment of fusion. A heating spell."
Malfoy's eyes lit up when the Knut fell. She blushed when she saw the heat develop in his eyes as he made the connection.
"Heat. Why didn't I think of it?"
"Because it was missing," Hermione whispered. "From both our lives."
Well, there was plenty now. Malfoy's fierce gaze heated her from head to toe and made its home in her lower stomach. In a split second, he crowded her against her work top. The edge of the writing surface poked into her back.
"Salazar's slithering snake, am I ever glad I asked you to help. Heat."
He pulled her around and close to his front. An exhilarated kiss later, two smouldering glances met. "Clear your station, Granger," he whispered against her mouth. "We'll give it heat."
She struggled in vain for a bit. "Don't order me, Malfoy." Then her body succumbed to his closeness and his greedy kisses down her neck with a moany exhale.
Draco chuckled against her shoulder. "Not that kind of heat, woman."
With a twiddle of his wand, he cleared her workplace himself. All paperwork, quills, documents, and vials set neatly on a nearby, unused station.
Then he lifted her up to sit her on her table and shoved her backward on the even surface, settling between her legs. "This kind."
Hermione opened her lab coat wide because it had gotten entirely too hot all of a sudden.
.
A/N: Any feedback is appreciated. Except the unsigned, blatantly insulting one - that will simply be laughed at - and deleted. ;-)