"Ooh!" Hermione cooed teasingly into Draco's ear. She pressed a hand to his shoulder and kissed his cheek. He had been writing something, an intense hunch to his shoulders and a contemplative pinch on his brow. "What work incident has got you this tense, love?"

Draco pushed the parchment out of the way as he turned, a blind motion as he balanced the quill in the fingers of his left hand. A smile immediately replaced his severe creases with the more wrinkled, bright ones.

"Hello, my love," he said, voice tired and drained. He stood to greet her, then immediately wrapped his arms around her and sank his nose into her hair. "I can finish this later; are you ready to go home?"

"Do you want to talk about it?" Hermione said into his shoulder, inhaling the musky scent of him he had accumulated from a day sitting amongst parchment and old magical texts.

"Maybe later," he hummed appreciatively into her hair, inhaling her like she was soothing essential oils, the way she had seen her mother do with lavender and rose.

Draco broke their hug, placed his quill safely in its holder, corked his ink pot, and flicked the light off with his finger. Hermione decided to forget about the crease on his brow and the worry in his eyes. Because Draco always told her about the things that bothered him.

—

The stack of parchment on her desk was taller than her head. When Draco knocked on her door that evening, she had to lift her chin just to see him.

"I got you an eclair," he whispered, looking around before sneaking in and shutting the door.

"Eclair as in, eclair eclair, or your penis eclair," Hermione giggled. Draco made a face, then turned the lock.

"Don't say penis," Draco chastised her, enunciating the word like it was dirty. "You make it sound so clinical."

"Oh?" Hermione stood now, walking around her desk to greet him. He did have a bag with eclairs in it and a cup of hot chocolate the way she liked it. She hadn't been able to find the time to leave the office lately, as more and more projects needed reviewing. And all of them had deadlines.

"Would you rather I use words like," Hermione tiptoed to kiss his cheek, then kissed his earlobe, "cock?"

Draco groaned a little. He loved the way her breath played across the sensitive parts of his ear. Hermione could feel him stiffening where their bodies met in their pseudo-hug. She brought her arms around his shoulders to complete the gesture, and Draco wrapped his arms around her waist, making her feel small, and light, and vulnerable to only him.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he said into her ear, his voice almost a growl.

She was thinking about sex. They had been having a lot of sex lately. Before, after work was about food, cuddles, maybe a beer or a glass of wine, television, snogging and heavy petting. Nearly always in that order.

Now, after work meant sex as soon as they collapsed through her front door. Then, food was ordered, and while they waited on the delivery, they'd lay in each other's arms while the television droned on in the background.

So yes, Hermione was thinking about what her boyfriend had implied.

Her career after Hogwarts had been on the right track, Hermione would say. She had never broken the rules, followed workplace etiquette, fought all the fights she needed to in lawful ways. Never gave anyone a reason to call her anything other than talented.

But with Draco…

Now that she knew what he could do to her, she never wanted him to stop. His tongue was already trailing from her ear to her neck. Then he was nipping at her jaw as his hands undressed her.

In these moments, Hermione was never aware of what her own hands were doing. But Draco had never complained. She liked to touch his chest and trace the sharp edges and gentle slopes, the cut of his muscle from his hips leading down, just visible above the line of his trousers when she pulled his shirt free of its tuck.

It charmed her sometimes, Draco's muggle clothing. It was required if he was allowed out on the field. Today, Hermione assumed, had been the day he was allowed on the field. And muggle clothing looked better half-off than on.

Everything felt like she was a teenager, bringing a boy home to her parents, then sneaking off to have sex with him while they 'ran out to get something to eat' and were told to be good while they were gone. Except this was work, and she would get fired if anyone ever found out.

Draco, too, of course, and he was already on thin ice with his position.

Love made them careless.

Nothing mattered besides the feel of their skin against the other. The way his chest was solid, where hers was soft. Where he was taut where she was round. She loved the way his fingers threaded through her hair to the base of her scalp, and when he tugged it with enough force, she moaned like the walls didn't have ears.

"Shhh, sweetheart," Draco laughed into her gasping mouth, "You'll get us caught, and we haven't properly started yet."

"Muffliato," Hermione whispered. "There. Now do to me whatever you like."

Draco did as he was told. Hermione sang his praises. And everyone was none the wiser.

—

It still felt like sparks had broken out across Hermione's skin. Waves and waves of it crashed over her until it tapered off into gentle thrums. Her thoughts finally became hers again as she lay panting beside Draco.

His pale chest was splotchy with exertion. His skin gleamed in the low light. His cock lay across one hip, still hard and oozing come from his pink head. Hermione didn't spare him any time; she rolled onto her stomach and felt the mess it made, chose not to care, and took his shaft in her hand.

Draco's hips bucked at the contact, and he looked down to watch her. He laughed breathlessly as Hermione smiled up at him, giddy and drunk on him.

"What are you doing?" he chuckled.

"Well, you're still ready to go, so I thought…" Hermione trailed off as she took his head between her lips and sucked gently, swirling her tongue against him and tasting his bitterness mingling with the scent of them.

"Merlin's bear-" Draco's mouth fell open, and he swallowed his words as she took his length into her throat. Her eyes watered, then she gagged and pulled away to gasp for breath.

"I don't think Merlin's got anything to do with that," Hermione laughed. "I've always wanted to try that."

"It was something," Draco stroked her hair away from her face and pulled her up to his face so she was laying beside him. "Do you want to go on a date with me?"

Hermione grinned at him, blushing furiously under the intensity of his gaze. "What did you have in mind?"

—

Hermione watched as Draco, Theo, Blaise, Ginny, Harry, and, surprisingly, Luna zoomed around in the sky above her.

Draco wanted her to like Quidditch. And honestly, it wasn't that she had never liked it before. It was just so boring. She understood the rules, she knew how a team could win, and she knew how to pay attention.

It wasn't until she had seen Draco flying in the sky beside her best mates that she was suddenly enamoured. She loved looking at him in the air, his hair windswept and eyes bright, skin flushed so pink that it looked sunburnt.

Hermione never understood the appeal of windswept hair, the way her friends had fawned over Harry in Hogwarts. Until she was looking at the man she had fallen in love with. And Merlin, was Quidditch beautiful.

Draco even managed to convince her to get onto a broom, but he ended up having to catch her as she completely barrelled over, hovering only three feet off the ground. The raucous laughter that followed made her want to bury her face in the grass and never look up. Draco held her as he pretended not to laugh, stroking her hair and kissing the crown of her head as he whispered how much he loved her.

The summer was bright and green and full of laughter. Hermione hadn't been this way since she had last been forced to; spontaneous and free from four walls, safe structures, finding joy in the little moments with her friends. But this was what adventure felt like. Wandering the countryside, stripping naked to plunge into a mountainside pool, making love in a meadow with the sun drying their skin. Letting the stars witness her shattering again and again.

In between their moments lost in blades of grass and playing with fairies in the forest, Hermione had found something they both loved. She had loved the practicality of plants. The history of muggle remedies with the base of muggle plants. Extracts and stews, teas and ointments - all existed within the wizarding world as well.

She loved to forage. It calmed her on the days she was alone, and now it soothed her soul to know Draco was with her. Draco, surprised by her secret hobby, had taken her ingredients and began brewing potions. Together, they experimented and created everything and nothing. Potions that were quick and useless, or long and fun, tedious in the way it was to build a thousand-piece puzzle and be satisfied with the final result.

Watching him grow shimmery above a cauldron had made her crave him more. Crave the parts of him she was yet to discover. And at the same time, she wanted to uncover his layers one by one, carefully, so as not to disturb him and her growing affection for him.

Hermione didn't spend the rest of her time doing much of anything besides reading. So she took Draco to every library she had ever been to. And every old bookstore. On their tours, they visited old buildings with centuries-old history. Sometimes, Draco knew it. Most times, he didn't, and he would listen with fascination as Hermione animatedly explained the magic of the place or the muggle history and how witches of old had integrated themselves in and tried to live normal lives.

And then they would go home. Either to Hermione's little flat or Draco's vacant cottage.

Narcissa seemed to be away a lot lately, and when Hermione asked, Draco explained that his mother had gone on a little European vacation.

Sometimes, after spending an entire weekend together, Hermione would open one of her recently purchased books and lay back on the sofa with her feet propped against the arm, her head nestled on a cushion.

She read to the sound of Draco's scratching quill on parchment, practically visualising his looping, beautiful handwriting. Whenever she had gotten up to get herself a glass of water or make them a pot of tea, she tried to peer at the papers without appearing too intrusive.

"Will you ever let me read any of what you've written?" Hermione pressed a kiss to his head as she slid his black tea, unsweetened, onto the desktop. Draco turned to look at her, his hand unconsciously pushing all the papers askew as he puckered for a kiss. Hermione obliged and pressed her mouth chastely to his, lingering there until he exhaled like she was a breath of fresh air.

"Maybe," Draco cupped her cheek and smiled at her. His eyes were wary and tired like he had been staring at the paper too long. Hermione knew that look well from seeing herself in the mirror. "But only when I'm ready, okay?"

"Okay," she kissed his forehead and glanced quickly at the papers, unable to help herself. She saw Hermione and catching the golden snitch written and dated. A journal, then? Hermione looked away and swallowed the miniscule amount of guilt that crept into her skull like an unwelcome guest.

"Bacon and eggs for dinner?" Draco nuzzled into her neck and inhaled.

"Only if you make it," Hermione smiled against his cheek.