Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.
Aw, you guys love your smut. It warms my heart. So... I'm hovering very close to having 1000 reviews, and I've never gotten that high before... Think you could help me make it?! I would love you forever! (Okay, I already love you forever, but it would make me really happy.) Also, thanks to all of you who popped over to the new blog to say hi! I've got to be careful not to spend all my time staring at pictures of beautiful tattooed men on Tumblr. Helloooooo my pretty. ANYWAYS. This chapter has a bit of smut, and a bit of serious. Please review! Like, SUPER PLEASE! xo Galfoy
Hermione stared at the hairline crack in her ceiling.
She had never noticed it before, and indeed, given how old and badly-maintained her building was, there's no reason why she would have seen it among the myriad of flaws that spotted the walls. But still. It was above her now, and it had captured her attention. A spidery little fissure that branched out from the light in the middle of the room and petering out about a hand's length away, seemingly going nowhere.
Cracks were funny things. They could mean nothing… That the paint was incorrectly applied, perhaps, or that the drywall had shifted slightly over time and strained the otherwise-smooth ceiling. They could be as inconsequential as a spider's web.
But.
They could also mean that there was a weakness in the structure, that it was the first sign of trouble, and that everything was about to cave in and swallow the ground beneath it. One tiny crack opening up to become a gaping cavern, a crumbling abyss of death and destruction, ready to crush everything beneath it.
Right now, she felt as if she was that crack. She was a sign of trouble, of weakness, of an impending collapse.
Draco stirred beside her, and she glanced over at his sleeping face.
God, he was perfect. He really was. Pale, almost fragile skin, with equally pale hair, tousled and pointing out in all directions from having her fingers raking through it all night. Pulling. Smoothing. Pulling again. They went from a primal fuck to a soft caress and everything in between. She was sore and sated and she would never forget last night as long as she lived.
Unfortunately, it had also served to compound her current predicament: she was fucked in a far less pleasant sense, too.
Hermione loved Draco. In a way, she had known the truth of her feelings since he rescued her, but couldn't come to terms with it until now. It seemed too soon, too strange. After last night, however, there was no point in hiding it. She knew it in her bones; she knew that no matter what the details of this trait were, no matter the circumstances of him coming back into her life, she had always been meant to love him. It was like a fairy tale, but not the fluffy modern-day sort.
This was of the Grimms' variety.
There was gore and death. The endings weren't always happy. The characters were convoluted and flawed. People did bad things, made terrible choices. Most importantly, love didn't always have the answers.
So where was she to get the answers from?
When she was holed up in Harry's guest house, when she wasn't busy getting physically ill at the reality of being away from Draco, she had nothing to do but think. And feel. And analyze.
Her realization that she loved Draco came quickly, almost immediately, in fact. This meant she had the rest of week to think about everything else. About how she had ended up where she was. About what she had gone through. About what was going on inside of her.
It took two days before she started to think about the pills again.
They snuck into her thoughts. Draco, Draco, Draco, pills. Like a whisper. So quiet she almost didn't notice. But then it got louder. Draco, Draco, pills, pills, pills….
Convinced she was imagining things, she tried to push it out of her mind. Narcissa's potion had gotten rid of her addiction. There was no reason the pills would come back to haunt her now. Right? The potion had taken her problems away.
Like magic.
But soon, thoughts of the pills became almost too much to handle, and it occurred to Hermione that just because the potion had removed the drugs from her system, that didn't mean her brain was fixed. Physical addiction was one thing, but mental addiction was another. Only one of those was under control. She would never tell anyone this, but with the mix of being separated from Draco and having no vices to help cope, she had started going down a very dark path. She stayed in that dark place for several more days until her instincts told her to get back to Draco. Those instincts may have saved her life. She uttered the spell that would demolish the building with only a faint twinge of remorse, knowing there would be plenty of time to feel guilty later on. There she was, delirious from a week in solitary confinement, her clothing singed from the explosion, running towards the portkey she had hidden on Harry's property.
And then, before whisking herself away, she made a very bad decision. She took one tiny detour. Just to see.
When she left France, she didn't leave empty-handed. She had a souvenir, something she should never have taken, but that she felt compelled to grab anyway.
It was in the pocket of her jeans. It was tormenting her. She loved Draco, that much she knew. But her problems were, as usual, much more complicated than they seemed.
Not wanting to think about her situation any longer, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and blocked out the crack that had started this torturous train of thought. She wasn't sure what to do about the pills, and she wasn't sure what to do about Draco's family, but she was sure about one thing: at least, this time around, she wasn't trying to manage everything alone. If things got really out of hand, Draco would listen. He would help.
At least she had that.
Turning on her side, she pressed her body against his back and wrapped her arms around his chest.
At least she had him.
Draco woke up slowly to the sensation of Hermione's arms snaking around his body, her face burying itself between his shoulder blades.
He kept his eyes shut, savouring the feeling. It was hard to believe this was really happening. After the hell on wheels that was the previous week, and the tumult of the week before, and the sadness and anger of the years before that, he finally felt good. Great, even. Better than great. He felt so amazing that he was worried that it could all come crashing down. After the things he had done in his life, was he worthy of this kind of happiness?
He could only hope.
Images from the night before started to filter into his brain, and a smile spread across his face. What was there to say? There was sex, and then there was... That. Sex was too small a word to describe what they had done, how it had felt, what it meant. Although she had made it clear that the courtship part of their arrangement was to be paced and measured, the rule didn't apply to what they did behind closed doors. Once the clothes hit the floor, neither of them had wanted to go slowly.
Fine by him. Christ, was it ever fine by him. What a way to end several years of War-imposed celibacy. Out with a bang, pun intended.
If only they could stay right here. Wrapped around each other, comfortably sunk into the mattress, blissfully happy in this simple little bedroom in a clunky old building in a boring part of town. Covered only by a cheap white coverlet that was ratty at the corners. Probably no food in either of their flats, and a generous layer of dust on everything, but Draco didn't care. This was heavenly. He never wanted to leave.
Inevitably, his smile slowly faded as he took inventory of the things awaiting them on the outside.
His parents. They needed to know she was safe. Come to think of it, he didn't even know if his father had returned from his weird excursion... Draco had been too busy wallowing in his own misery to ask. Either way, a trip to the Manor was in order, and he would have to make it clear to the elder Malfoys that Hermione was not to be hassled about joining the family. They would date as long as it took for her to feel comfortable - years, if that's what she wanted. She needed time to transition from her old life - one of Weasley, addiction, loss - to her new reality. One that included Draco, a thriving business, and hopefully, the balance she was seeking. She wanted a break from the stress and the drama, and she would get it.
If he was being honest, she would get anything she asked for.
The other things could wait a little longer, but would have to be addressed eventually. He had ignored Trebax all week, and owed Blaise an incalculable debt for holding down the fort while he was out of commission. Potter too. And actually, if they had indeed asked Pansy to come and lure Hermione out, his friends had helped him more than he could explain. Friends. Plural. Seemed odd to have those again.
Weasley and McLorrow would be dealt with much later on when Hermione was feeling strong enough to handle some hostility. The lawsuit would run its course, which was fine, and Draco would help with whatever Hermione needed to cut her ties with Weasley completely. From now on, the red-headed git was all past tense. He'd caused them both enough pain to last a lifetime, and Draco planned to made sure the tosser never got to so much as look at Hermione ever again.
From now on, only Draco would get to see her like this. In bed. Happily undone. It made him feel like anything was possible.
Maybe, if she wanted, they could get a flat together down the line.
Maybe she even wanted kids one day. Maybe not. They could talk about it whenever she felt ready.
Either way, the future didn't seem as bleak as he once feared.
Hermione stirred behind him and yawned, sinking her face back between his shoulder blades and placing a small kiss there. "You awake?" she murmured.
"Yeah," he said, his voice scratchy. Her hand lay flat against his chest, and he smoothed his over hers.
"I don't remember my bed ever being this comfortable," she yawned again. "It's better with you in it."
"I'm happy to stay here as long as you like," he replied. He could feel her smiling against his skin.
"Well, we should probably go tell your folks that I'm okay," she said. "I left pretty suddenly last time, and they probably don't know that I'm back yet."
He sighed, slightly relieved that she had brought it up. "That's true. They've been worried. We don't need to stay there long, if you don't want."
"I don't mind staying a while," she said, shyly. "I'd like to get to know them a little better."
"Hermione, you don't need to say that to placate me," he said, chuckling. "I know they're a bit intense."
"They love you very much," she said, shrugging slightly against his back. "That's something I can understand."
Something purred in his chest at her words. He opened his mouth several times to respond, but couldn't come up with a response. He cleared his throat.
"Thank you," he said, eventually.
"Listen, Draco..." she said, sounding guilty. "When I was talking to your mother's portrait, I... I said some things about being a Malfoy that I don't feel very proud of."
Draco turned over to face her, and smiled at how worried she looked. "Hermione, you of all people know that my family is far from perfect. You've got the scars to prove it."
"But still... I wasn't being very fair. I know you've changed, and I can see that your parents have changed... Or they are changing, at least. It wasn't right of me to dredge up the past."
"Sure it was. Anything you have to say about being a Malfoy is probably true, anyway. We haven't exactly been the most upstanding family. All I can promise is that since you came into the picture, my parents have been trying very hard to do the right thing. They like you. They want to make this right."
"That's nice to hear," she said, tracing his lips with her fingers.
"It's true," he said, leaning in to place a line of soft kisses along her collarbone. With that movement, he foggily realized that they were still completely naked, and felt himself harden startlingly fast, his length pressing against her thigh as he moved down to suckle her breast.
She moaned softly, and opened her legs a bit wider.
"When do we want to leave to go to the Manor?" she said, dreamily.
"Let's give ourselves a couple of hours," he said. "That'll put us there at around 11am, and we need at least ten minutes to get ready."
"And the other hour and fifty minutes?" she asked, shivering as he ran his finger over her clit and continued south. Still wet. Still ready. It was his lucky morning.
Instead of answering, he gently pulled her knee up to hook around his hip, and entered her slowly, knowing she was probably still sore from his less-gentle affections the night before. He hissed at the sensation of her warm, wet centre tightening around his cock, and her nails dug into his back with a pleasant sting.
"I need the other hour and fifty minutes to lavish you in attention," he said. "Are you okay with that?"
She whimpered in response as he began to rock in and out of her
"I'll take that as a yes," he murmured, picking up the speed of his thrusts, realizing he would never grow tired of hearing the slap of his body against hers. He would never grow tired of any of this.
"Yes," she said.
Yes, yes, yes yes yes yes yesyesyesyesyes.
Harry surveyed the pile of smoking rubble with a frown. He'd never been particularly attached to the guest house, and given that he'd never actually had guests over, it was sorely neglected, but still. It was his, and Hermione had blown it up.
With a sigh, he rubbed his scar out of habit and cast a quick spell to make sure the fire was truly out. Losing a building was one thing... But having it ignite the woods was quite another. Better safe than sorry. He trudged back along the path to the main house, hidden from view behind the tall trees and the sloping hills.
Truly, this had been the strangest couple of weeks in recent memory. What started off as being frightening and frustrating - Ron's erratic behaviour, Hermione's addiction, her subsequent overdose - morphed into something else entirely - Draco becoming an unlikely hero, Hermione saving his business - culminating in a Malfoy-style mindfuck. A gene that occasionally created a Malfoy in need of a mate? Of course a family that unusual would have a nice old-fashioned mating trait built into the bloodline. All the older magical families often had quirky oddities to deal with, but he'd never had to witness it first hand like this.
In context, Hermione's reaction was completely unsurprising, and the fallout was fascinating to watch, if not a bit nerve-wracking. If there was any doubt that this was the real thing, Draco's downward spiral was the proof. It was also a telling sign that Hermione literally had to bespell herself captive to keep away from him. Stubborn girl.
Still, what a ride. Fated. Two people who used to be enemies. Strange, but also a bit encouraging. If they could love each other, there was hope for everyone else. Maybe even him.
Harry looked up and saw with relief that he had reached his home. White painted wood siding, green-trimmed windows, complete with picturesque vines growing up the sides. The only sound was the clucking of the chickens and the rustle of the grass. It was almost comically idyllic. This place had been his refuge after the War, after losing Ginny and so many other loved ones. It had kept him intact. The seclusion had suited him initially, but he was starting to appreciate his time in London again. Perhaps distance really did make the heart grow fonder. It had been good to spend time around friends lately, although the strangeness of his new colleagues wasn't lost on him. Shifting from Ron to Draco and Blaise was a bit of a shock to the system. Honestly, the Ron situation made him indescribably sad, but there was nothing he could do. He refused to be friends with someone who treated Hermione so callously. Ron had changed too much, all for the worst. At least Blaise and Draco looked after Hermione properly.
With the squeak of the old doorknob, Harry let himself and and made a quick cup of tea, sitting down in his reading chair to decompress a bit. As strange as this whole situation was, he was actually touched by how deeply Draco had fallen for Hermione, and was pleased to see she finally felt the same back. Hermione deserved that sort of love... Intense, unstoppable, all-encompassing. The whole thing was just so Malfoy. It seemed Draco either hated people, tolerated them, or worshipped them.
Apparently Hermione was his queen.
She would have to get used to it, but in the end, it was probably good for her to be appreciated after so many years of neglect. And actually, their affection was having a ripple effect... Blaise had disappeared very quickly with Pansy after they had been banished from Trebax. Even Slytherins needed love. They just liked to pretend that they didn't.
He sipped his tea and let his eyes wander around his living room. This was nice. Calming. Everything was just as he left it.
Wait.
There was something on the rug. Something new. Harry put down his tea and dropped to his hands and knees to inspect.
It was ash.
He felt his blood slow, and connected the dots in sluggish horror. Hermione had been here. Inside. She had gotten past his wards.
Shooting to his feet, he ran upstairs to the spare room, pulling open the bedside drawer and rifling around. Stupid stupid stupid. After he'd raided Hermione's flat, he'd wasted no time disposing of the pills. The prescription pads, however, were another story. He'd forgotten about them for a while, leaving them to languish in his bag, and then tossed them in the bedside table later on when he noticed them there. He had always planned to get rid of them, but he didn't feel a sense of urgency like he did with the pills.
Three prescription pads.
One was missing.
Fuck. He had to find Hermione, like, now.