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He nipped at her lips and pulled away quickly, wanting to see Hermione's face: her chocolate fear-filled eyes, the curve of her nose, cheekbones, and full pink lips in the dusky light before he kissed her. His grey eyes tantalized her skin, and she whimpered in his beauty. Hermione didn't dare close her eyes- she just stared at the man before her, unable to tear her gaze off him. She could see that his sharp grey orbs were now dark and lustfully glazed, and she licked her lips instinctively.
Hermione's finger lingered on his jaw, holding his eyes as her thumb came to his bottom lip. She saw the apprehension and arousal in his eyes. She was shocked at how soft his lips were, how gentle they felt beneath her fingers. He inched closer towards her so that her entire body pressed against the door with a soft thud. He slid his knee between her legs and her breathing became haggard as his lips descended upon her neck.
She moaned intuitively and clutched his shirt, pulling him into a closer and intimate stance. As his lips journeyed up her neck and towards her jaw, Draco hooked his arm around her waist and brought her hips towards his. A shiver of pleasure ran down her spine as he pulled away again to wink at her playfully before capturing her lips. Their bodies moved rhythmically, his lips moving teasingly and skillfully, caressing her own.
She gave a sigh as her lips parted and granted him entrance to the cavern that was her mouth. He moaned against her lips and the kiss became more fervent. Hermione's hands were in his hair, pulling him deeper into her mouth, closer towards her body. She tilted her neck as his tongue lulled over her bottom lip. She quivered again before kissing him back thoroughly.
He responded to her show of newfound boldness by resting his freehand on the bare skin of her upper thigh. Her breath hitched. She tasted him for the first time; he smelt of sage, almonds, and musk. He felt like fear and unadulterated glory. She let out a deep sigh and his tongue became more demanding.
Under the intensity of it all, under this first taste of forbidden fruit, Hermione was losing herself. She was lost in his gentle but fiery and deliberate touches; she was lost in his impulsive yearning kisses. And he reveled in every sensation – she was like living a dream, a phantasmagoria of lights and whirling emotions.
He gripped her tighter so that his knees would not give way as she bit his lip erotically; a searing kiss was his sick sort of punishment for her domineering ways. His hands traced her sides and her hips grinded against his. One hand rested at the curve of waist as he reached up under her mousse brown hair to kiss her milky white shoulder.
At this her chocolate eyes came to life.
"Draco."
Her voice was soft and her knees buckled again as he reached to caress her cheek. He gave a low guttural sound to indicate his attention. She pushed against him gently as to release from his embrace.
"What are we doing?"
He chuckled at her self-evident question, his grey eyes almost black with arousal.
"If you have something to say Granger, feel free to share."
He pressed his lips against her own and she melted into him again. Her trademark curls were awry and Draco felt uneasy looking at her blushing form. With her clothing askew she was so beautiful and scared; it felt surreal to feel so broken in her arms.
He pressed further against her, caught up in his fantasy and desire to be underneath her skin. He wanted all of her; he wanted to be inside of her. She was his only, and this simple edict the mudblood needed to know. As if reading his thoughts, her eyes opened again urgently and Hermione squirmed until she was kicking beneath him.
"Stop it, Malfoy!"
She pushed him and he staggered away from her, wiping his lip with his hand. Had she rejected him? His eyes flashed with emotion and he snarled before sating into his arrogant self.
"Got a problem Granger?" he responded angrily.
To her crossed arms and disheveled demeanor, a smirk crept up his features.
Mudblood, you have been ravished by the Slytherin Prince himself.
"I mean it Malfoy, what are we doing? We can't just be snogging each other like this – it's unprofessional."
"Oh, drop the 'holier-than-thou' attitude. Can't "Virginal Mudblood Granger" admit she enjoy pashing the enemy?"
"I didn't enjoy anything! You shoved me up against a wall!"
"Don't blame me for pointing out the fact you're a natural submissive, Granger."
"Natural submissive, my arse," she muttered, throwing a spiteful glare in his direction, "This is never happening again. It was an accident, right Malfoy? I knew all that pent up hatred against each other couldn't be healthy."
He scoffed at her disbelievingly.
"You truly think that was an act of hatred? Of all things, Granger! You're smart, don't choose this moment to exhibit naïveté."
"You know they say, there's a thin line between love and hate."
"Well whoever said that was obviously a mudblood."
She gaped at him and at his stoic expression, shook her head.
"You're always ruining everything, Malfoy. There we were, actually having a decent adult conversation–"
"Clearly your hermit and introverted ways have taken toll because that is not what I call–"
"A decent conversation? See I have a feeling you don't mean that, or at least that's what I gathered from all your moaning and-"
He cut her off, yet there was a tart and tight smile pursing her lips.
"If you want to live, Granger, you won't finish that sentence."
She leveled her stare on his; there was a look of challenge in her eye.
"Try me."
He sneered.
"Already did, and decided there really wasn't anything worthwhile."
Her eyes widened in disbelief and hurt.
"Don't give me that, Granger. I know you're chaste and unsullied, but I didn't know you were a virgin kisser too – so I apologize for deflowering you."
"You horrible vile disgusting-"
"Again with the adjectives. I'm starting to think you leisurely read the dictionary just to find words to describe me. Hmm?"
"Go fuck yourself," she spat, vitriolic acid burning up her throat.
"Oh won't you do it for me? You know, since you're so… willing?"
Falling, falling, falling. Hermione was numb, null of emotion and suffering. The vindictiveness of his words transcended any passion within her. Draco was taken aback for a moment. Never had he seen someone so bereft, so abjectly visible in their regret.
"Are we really back at Hogwarts, Malfoy? Back to you calling me a mudblood in extremely uncreative ways and me making light of your flagrant disregard of the feelings of others?"
Her burning voice went on deaf ears as he turned away from her, his face falling in his hands. It was pathetic really; his inability to stand so close to her, his drug, his addiction, and want so much. The pain was agony to his already broken soul. She sighed at his pitiful demeanor, cursing inwardly for letting herself kiss him.
"You can't even control yourself because just for a moment I questioned you. Because just for a moment I wanted to ask why Malfoy the Bigot wanted me, a mudblood."
She swallowed, eyes stinging as she continued.
"Of course you chose then to snarl back and insult me."
His eyes were hard as she clapped, bowing slightly.
"Bravo, Draco, bravo. I bet your parents are proud, raising a son with such morals. Is that what you do then? Shag them and leave them, no questions asked?"
Her tone was mocking.
"You don't know what the Merlin you're talking about, Granger."
She raised her eyebrows theatrically and brought her hands to her hips.
"No? I guess I don't. And I guess you'll never find out."
Her words bit at Malfoy, a hollow feeling settling in the base of his stomach. He couldn't help his reaction; he had allowed Hermione to see a part of him, a part he never showed anyone – and that self-righteous minger handed it right back to him on a silver fucking platter. He clenched his fists and turned away from her, grabbing his hair roughly in a show of mental waywardness.
He stumbled towards the bed; all he could see were images of her. Falling. Falling. He groaned again as he envisioned her pink lips opening to his every beck and call.
"Malfoy? Are you alright?"
His head snapped in Granger's direction at her anxious words. His grey eyes were calamitous.
"Get the fuck away from me, Granger. The door is behind you."
He turned away from her again and trembled. He told himself to count, do anything but crawl back to her and beg Hermione just to feel. He beat against his chest and he heard her sharp intake.
"Didn't I tell you to leave, Granger?"
Her voice was soft now. His jaw twitched – a restrained flinch.
"Draco…"
"Get. Out!"
"You sad, sad man."
And with the solemn finality of those clipped last words, she took down the wards and left Draco perched atop the bed. As the door closed, he looked back, white blonde hair falling into his dark eyes. He was so tortured, and he knew it. Through all the hatred and excruciating pain, he could feel it pulsating through his veins. He couldn't stand to see her walk through that door. He was a Malfoy – he should be the one telling her whether she could leave his presence!
Calm yourself, Malfoy.
He closed his eyes and fisted the bed sheets, containing his anger. Sometimes he hated this innate sense of insularity, as though everything inside him was slowly tipping closer to the edge. He was the bottle of a storm, a tumult that if someone dared open would annihilate and destroy.
He thought for a moment of Hermione. He certainly recognized the hopelessness of it all, and even she questioned the shadow of doubt that surrounded the sincerity of their hatred; was it possible then? Could that lingering and burning feeling actually give rise to something other than detestation?
He laughed crudely; there was no way. Here he was, plagued incessantly by his muse while she tortured his leaden-hued heart. His expression was one of hesitance and indecision. Draco pursed his lips and thought for a moment. In their many years of acquaintanceship, they'd exchanged not a single pleasantry, not a single smile. They brought out the worst in each other, and that animosity had satisfied them both for as long as he could remember.
Yet for some reason, they no longer satisfied Draco Malfoy. He'd permitted Hermione a glimpse of the humanity that was cloaked in insincerity and lost in shadows; he was flawed, but that didn't mean no one could love him.
"Hermione, are you sure you're alright?"
Hermione nodded her head for the umpteenth time, shrugging as her gaze remained over Malachi, Nikhil, and Matthew. Malachi was chatting quietly on his phone with Jackie Weng, intermittently glancing at Hermione and whispering lowly to not wake a sleeping Nikhil. Matthew feigned indifference and stared off but Hermione knew he was watching steadily her interaction with Theo. Despite her transgression, Nott informed an absent-minded Hermione of Adrian and Demetri's departure.
"I wanted to stay until you left," he ran a hand through his black curls and centered his gaze on her bruised lips.
Bruised lips?
"He didn't stun you, did he?"
She laughed at this and clutched his lower arm.
"I assure you, Theo, nothing happened - well nothing out of the ordinary. I know I was in there for a while, but it mostly comprised of me pitying Malfoy, his awakening, and my prompt dismissal from the room."
He softened at this and smiled, tucking a piece of her wild gossamer curls behind her ear.
"Good."
She warmed at his gesture and followed as he led her out of the corridor. She cringed internally, forgetting whether she had fixed her clothing before leaving Malfoy's presence. She hopped neither Castillo, Clayton, or Blooming could piece together pink-tinted cheeks, strewn hair, and a wrongly buttoned blouse.
"I think it's nice that all the boys visit Malfoy. Do you take turns waiting on him or what?"
"Jackie and Blaise are at the office as Draco's substitutes and the rest of us are here for support. I guess we're a band of brothers in that way. I love them all."
He squeezed her hand. They reached the Floo momentarily, and he tugged her towards him. Hermione turned to meet Theo's downcast eyes.
"I want to apologize for what happened on our date. I don't know, I-"
"Its fine, I promise. Theo, I know you're a great guy and you'd never do something like that in your right mind."
He smiled at her again, this time taking her hand and raising it to his lips.
"Then you'll come out with me again, Hermione? Another date, perhaps?"
As his soft lips brushed against her knuckles, she felt traitorous. There were over a thousand things wrong with this picture, namely the fact her heart was screaming no. Hermione forced a smile and hated herself for it. She liked Theo, she really did, but it just didn't feel right.
She felt torn in this rude awakening; she didn't need another reminder of her rash decisions and mistakes. It was this belated rush of emotions she hadn't relayed to Malfoy, and she wanted to, to tell him everything. She wanted to scream why, why me? She wanted to beat against his pale ethereal skin and trail her fingers down his chest. She yearned to whisper sweet nothings into his hair and fall asleep in his strong arms.
She wanted to argue with him and see just how far she could push him until he hugged and kissed away her fears. Most importantly, she just wanted to feel him. His hot skin beneath her trembling fingers, his impassioned touch.
She closed her welling eyes and let one single tear fall. It was a tear that needed to be shed, a tear so she could forget her feelings. She wanted to forget that kiss, a kiss that brought a soaring feeling to her soul and bile in her throat. He was a cognitive dissonance that she both abhorred and cherished.
"You're crying, Hermione."
She laughed with spite and wiped away the tears threatening to overflow, threatening to give it all away. No, she would bottle it up. She would hide her emotion for she was the logical pragmatic one. Someone needed to make a rational decision and since Malfoy didn't appear to be making any sane judgments whatsoever, she needed to take control.
"Hermione?"
She closed her eyes and leaned in to kiss Theo. His lips were immovable from the spontaneity of it all, but it wasn't long until he kissed her back. It was a soft but meaningful kiss, and unbeknownst to him, it meant everything to her. She needed Theo in this moment, to hold her and tell her that everything was just perfect.
Hermione was breaking, and she wanted to be saved.
"It's time."
Rodolphus revealed a toothless smile as he looked up at Rabastan, eyes narrowing with grimy glee.
"Lucius' release is today, then?"
An ensconced Rodolphus scratched viciously at his calf until blood began to trickle. He took his long senescent index finger to the blood and drew it to his lips, moaning at the cathartic effect of pure blood. Rabastan leaned toward his seated brother with a sneer of vengeance and lunacy upon his old chapped lips.
"And only a few more weeks until our plan goes into effect."
Rabastan grinned repulsively at Rodolphus' statement, this time his eyes wide with mad hilarity.
"And how's our dear Narcissa?"
"Mungo's is treating her well, I hear."
A cackle erupted from Rabastan's throat as he moved away from his convulsing brother. Each step was taken with labor, as though every movement was burdened by secrets. He wrapped his arms around his scrawny shoulders and shifted from foot to foot. He rolled back his eyes until only the yellow whites were visible in his sunken sockets.
"All for you, my Dark Lord."
It was as though the room chilled at these taboo words. Rodolphus and Rabastan exchanged a look of pure pleasure and excitement, scrambling towards the rotting wooden desk.
"When, dear brother, shall we capture that blood traitor Narcissa and that mudblood?"
Rabastan took his brothers' dirty hands and held them tightly. Uniformly, the two men looked to the ceiling and felt the dark magic permeate around them. Rabastan's voice was whisper.
"Soon, Rodolphus. Patience, brother, and the Wizarding world shall return to the way he would have wanted."
Rabastan's eyes glinted with beastly thoughts and a dark foreboding hope.
Blaise rested his chin on his suit-clad knees. Of all the places he wanted to be right now, Azkaban was not of them, yet by some wry and beguiling twist of fate he was in the one place he dreaded more than his father's library and Dumbledore's office.
And Zabini was not a coward.
So what if he "stayed" with his mother in Italy during the Great War - he still suffered psychologically as much anyone. So what if he preferred to opt out and save his own hide? The last thing he needed was their positive reassurance; that's what he loathed most: pity and cowardice.
He remembered just how much he hated Pucey the second Adrian followed him into Malfoy's office. After Blaise helped restore the Zabini family name and stayed with his mother during her final years of life, his return to the Wizarding World was not one welcomed by his former classmates. The minute Zabini stepped into Malfoy's office, Pucey had spat on his dark tanned face, calling Blaise an erasable mar on the Slytherin name for hiding during the war.
To Blaise's protests Adrian merely looked down his nose as if in the presence of a weakling and mudblood. That insult burned Blaise to his core, and he challenged Adrian to a duel right then and there. It had been Malfoy's calm words, as well as the threat of a quick dismissal from his company that forced Zabini and Pucey to begrudgingly pocket their wands.
In all honesty, Blaise had missed Azkaban by a hair. The Wizengamot brought him into custody and interrogated him, telling Blaise that without his cooperation he would find himself trapped into a life sentence behind Azkaban bars. In fear, Blaise told them everything he knew, which was everything and nothing.
Sitting beside Malfoy, he ran his fingers through his fine brown hair. He found that when Malfoy came to him and requested his companionship to Azkaban, he had agreed without a moment of hesitation. It was a testament to Blaise's brotherly love for Malfoy. When Zabini returned to England a few years after the war's end, he discovered there was nowhere he was welcome. He rested at the Three Broomsticks for a while – drinking Firewhiskey and drowning in the sorrow of it all.
There was nowhere he could go. Pansy certainly wouldn't take an old lover into her home; she needed more time to recuperate from the loss of her father. Blaise and Marcus had a falling out before his departure to Italy and Zabini loathed Pucey more than anyone in Slytherin House, what with his conniving and malevolent ways.
Blaise was never close enough to Theo to ask if he could stay at the Nott residence, and as far as he knew, Goyle and Crabbe were dead. Hours later, Zabini found his knuckle's rapping on the silver charmed gates of the Malfoy Manor. When Malfoy saw Blaise, he didn't ask any questions - just set up room and board for his friend.
Blaise found himself perplexed at Malfoy's persona. In those first months staying with Malfoy, Blaise determined that Draco was still the arrogant prat he remembered from Hogwarts, yet there was something so enervating and lifeless about him. His grey eyes were hollow and vacant, there was no swagger in his step. His skin seemed paler than Blaise remembered and there was no denying the dark circles beneath his tortured grey eyes.
It was their friendship that saved the two boys from insular living and wallowing in self-pity. Through all the trials and tribulations, steadfast hatred and disapproval from the Wizarding community, and the rebuilding Malfoy Industries, Blaise and Draco forged a bond greater than friendship: brotherhood. And they were stronger for it everyday.
Blaise turned decidedly to the man seated next to him and sighed.
"They're waiting, Draco."
The blonde man eyed his friend and rolled his neck tiredly. His voice was flat.
"I'm not ready, Blaise."
"I don't care, we're here and your father is about to be released. You should be thanking Harry Potter and not sitting and groveling pensively like Granger."
Draco glared at Blaise, a story unfolding in his grey eyes.
"Ah, Draco, I see you've made some progress with the mudblood."
"Shut it, Zabini."
Blaise wiggled an eyebrow and smirked in his classic Zabini way.
"Your eyes doth tell another story."
"Quoting Muggle literature is not your strong suit."
"And shagging mudbloods is yours?"
"Watch it, Zabini. I won't think twice about hexing your-"
"Duly noted."
They sat in silence for a few more moments and Malfoy cracked his knuckles, thinking. He had waited seven patient years for his father's release, and here he was, standing a few feet away from the gates. In no fewer than ten minutes, Lucius Malfoy would leave Azkaban and reenter Draco's life for good. Draco didn't know whether to feel overjoyed or frightened of his father's return.
Lucius Malfoy was the man who had obsequiously served Voldemort. He was the man who opened the Chamber of Secrets some years ago, and the very same to be sent to Azkaban three times. Yet he was the person that taught Draco how to ride his first broomstick. He was the same man who helped Draco brew potions and taught him skilled dueling. Lucius was the same man who was cold and brutal but loving in his own twisted ways. These simple facts Draco could not deny and as much as he hated Lucius, he was the only thing Draco could call a father.
"Just a few more minutes now."
Draco looked on Blaise.
"Are you ready, Malfoy?"
"Are you, Zabini?" he countered bitterly.
Blaise narrowed his eyes and instead turned to watch Potter. Harry was here as Malfoy's witness and would mediate over Lucius' release. St. Scarhead was pacing back and forth outside the charmed gates and wringing his wrists. He looked about as nervous as Malfoy, and about ready to keel over and purge. Zabini laughed at that mental image and placed a hand on Draco's shoulder. His blonde friend looked over and cracked a small nervous smile.
Harry called them over and with a sigh, Draco got to his feet and languidly made his way over. Blaise was almost surprised at Draco's quick replacement of a fretting expression with a haughty leer of indifference.
Almost.
"So Potter, our last exchange."
At Draco's ominous words Harry muttered some inaudible expletives and then forced a smile to match Malfoy's sneer.
"It's been a pleasure I assure you, Malfoy. Don't make me regret this."
"I'm quite certain," Malfoy chided with a hint of falsity in his voice.
Blaise stepped between Harry and Draco, forcing the men to hold their ground as three Azkaban prison guards strode towards the gates.
"A Mr. Harry Potter and a Mr. Draco Malfoy?" a short stocky man asked in his thick Cockney accent.
Malfoy sneered at the pedigree.
"Yes, that's-"
"Us," Draco interjected.
The speaking guard itched his neck at the clear hostility between the two.
"Right-o," the guard passed a parchment and quill between the gates, "Signature on the lines."
Draco snatched the quill first and penned his full name with sophisticated and elegant penmanship. He passed the quill to Harry, who much to his mortification scrawled his own name right atop.
Draco scowled as Harry passed the parchment back to the short man. The guard performed a nonverbal for verification and nodded seconds later, motioning for the two other guards to leave his side and retrieve Lucius.
Draco's heart beat faster in his chest; he was closer now, closer to losing it. He closed his eyes and willed the emotions to settle. Slowly, he began to count the moments until his father would be before his eyes.
One: He's back Draco, the man who made your childhood living hell.
Two: The man who laughed upon your every fault and failure.
Three: A man whose servile allegiance blinded him to the point at which he couldn't get out even when he knew he was in too deep.
Four: He who missed your birthdays rotting away in Azkaban.
Five: The man who selfishly turned a blind eye to the wicked torture that you witnessed at a young age.
Six: The man who whipped you and performed the Cruciatus curse because you just scraped a passing in Ancient Runes.
Seven: The same person who hid you and mother when the Death Eaters arrived.
Eight: A man who defended you to the Dark Lord and bought you time until your stupid self believed you could kill Dumbledore.
Nine: The person who held you at the end of the war and kissed your mother with ardor, whispering that everything was going to be fine.
Ten: The same man who found humility and at the stand, looked upon you and your mother and begged for forgiveness.
When Draco opened his eyes again, his father stood before him. It was as if looking before a mirror: Lucius hadn't aged by much. His long white hair still reached at his knees and blue eyes shone of a sort of sagacity, remembrance, and change.
He stood proudly in the rich black robes that six years ago Lucius wore at his trial, and it was as if nothing had changed from the moment he had asked Draco to forgive him. Malfoy stopped breathing as his father placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled upon his son; a homecoming of sorts.
Draco traced the wrinkles between Lucius' eyes and lips, realizing in this moment that he was a few inches taller than his father, and that Lucius prided on this. The elder Malfoy's upper lip twitched as he looked Draco up and down scrupulously for a second time. Draco exhaled deeply at this quiet gesture of acceptance and Lucius stepped closer to his son. Draco felt uneasy at the softness in his father's gaze; there was something so changed about the man before him.
Blaise watched the exchange as Lucius touched the cheek of his son and enveloped Draco into a hug. Malfoy's arms lay comatose beside him and he closed his cloudy grey eyes, inhaling the poignancy of this moment.
"I'm here, son. Forever and always."
At this declaration, a single glass tear escaped Malfoy's eye as he roughly returned the embrace. He thought of Hermione, and for the first time, Draco allowed himself to feel vulnerable in his father's arms.
I so love the emotional depth of Draco.
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