Authors note:
A few announcements:
1) The eventual smut has finally arrived! It's preceded by a bit of angst (and, trigger warning, there is brief talk of past suicidal ideation) but I hope you all enjoy!
2) Karina Giada ( karinagiada) has created this unbelievably stunning cover for this fic inspired by the Solstice Ball in Chapter 17. Follow her for more incredible art!
3) You can now find me on TikTok & Tumblr ( maecooper on tumblr, maecooper_ on TikTok) come by and say hello :)
I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it
June 22nd, 2008
Future Minister of Magic a Death Eater Sympathizer?
The morning edition of the Daily Prophet is sitting on the front step of Malfoy Manor by the time Hermione and Draco arrive. Draco can see the moment O'Dell arrests him, while Hermione looks on in abject horror, peeking from above the fold. The flash of cameras silhouettes them against the front door of the manor. Hermione's hair is tousled, a strap of her dress falling off of her shoulder. It's impossible not to remember what was interrupted. His tongue dragging along her hip bones, her hands in his hair, his fingers tracing her collar bone. Dracos groans.
"Let's get inside. You sure you still want to come in, Granger?"
Hermione smiles, "As I said last night, it's time to make new memories."
As exhausted as he is, Draco can't help but watch Hermione look around the manor as they enter the foyer. Last night we were so distracted by the throes of passion and the adrenaline of the arrest, she must not have had a chance to take it all in. Hugging her midsection self consciously, Hermione peeks her head into the reception room and cautiously steps forward into the main atrium, looking up the elegant staircase–the cold marble steps and dark wooden banister. Draco had never felt fully at home in this house. It had always been so rigid and grand, not a place for a young boy to run around and play. He could only imagine what it felt like for Hermione.
A portrait of his grandfather, Abraxus Malfoy, hangs on the wall next to the entrance to the drawing room. Startled by the appearance of Hermione, Abraxus leaps to life. "Filthy mudblood in the Manor?! I shall not stand for it. Boy, explain yourself!"
Draco jumps into action, reaching for his wand and conjuring a heavy black drape to cover the portrait, finishing up with a silencio for good measure. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. I didn't think–we've been trying to remove a few of the portraits around this house but it seems that permanent sticking charms really are permanent…"
Hermione laughs dryly. "It must've run in pureblood families…there was a very unpleasant portrait of Walburga Black hanging in Grimmauld Place. Harry had been trying to remove it for years. Finally we just cut the wall out and disposed of the whole thing. Believe me, I've gotten used to the abuse at this point."
"That's hardly fair." Draco shakes his head sadly. "Although I'll have to tell my mum about the wall-cutting technique. Give me just a moment, let me cover up a couple of my other unsavory relatives in the meantime and then we can head up to my room if you'd like."
She nods, her eyes drawn to the entrance of the drawing room. The room where she was tortured. The room you let her be tortured in. The self-condemnation comes naturally, the well-worn pathways of self-hatred familiar in his brain. He watches as she hesitantly steps in, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths. The weight of their shared history hangs heavy in the air. It's obvious they both are thinking of the last time they were in this room together, many years ago.
Besides the chandelier, Narcissa had completely redone the drawing room. Gone are the heavy velvet curtains and dark floorboards. In its place, cream walls and light hardwood floors compliment lush red and gold carpets, overstuffed armchairs, and a beautiful grand piano. The morning light is slanting in from the windows, bathing the room in a bright yellow glow. She's made this room fit for a Gryffindor. It feels like his mother has crafted an apology out of furniture and interior design. Everything that was cold and cruel has been transformed to be warm and welcoming. He can imagine the fire crackling in the grate and Hermione sitting on the sofa, reading a book.
A small sob shakes him out of his reverie. Tears are streaming down Hermione's face. He rushes to her. "May I hold you?" He wants to be absolutely sure she wants his touch. He's taken too much from her to push past any more boundaries.
She nods and presses her face into his chest, curls tickling his nose. He wraps his arms around her, feeling how small she feels in his embrace–how vulnerable.
"Are you okay?" He leans down to whisper into her ear.
Hermione takes a moment to collect herself before replying. "This room. It's so different from how I remember it."
"My mum and I had it boarded up for a long time. There are a few rooms in this house we hardly go in. Too many memories." An image of Nagini slithering down his dining room table, jaws open, ready to engulf Voldemort's latest victim flash through his mind. He shudders. "But then, we decided it was time to reclaim the spaces we had been avoiding. To make new memories, to your point."
"The room is beautiful. I just can't get the other version out of my mind. It almost feels layered on top, if that makes sense. As if we're just standing in the liminal space between two realities." She's silent for a while longer, then walks over to the place where Bellatrix had her pinned and kneels down, placing a hand over the wood. "This place haunts my dreams. I can still hardly sleep without nightmares. The healers have prescribed me a sleeping potion but the dreams still come."
Hermione's words feel like a sword stabbing into his gut. He repeats the mantra his healer gave him. You were just a boy. It wasn't your fault. "What do you dream about?" Draco kneels down next to her.
"That night. Feeling powerless and terrified. I truly thought I was going to die, or worse." She sits back on her heels and looks at him, eyes still brimming with tears, her hand subconsciously tracing the scars on her left forearm. "That feeling never leaves you. It's like a curtain has been ripped open and the world that once seemed so safe is now a dangerous and cruel place."
"I understand. I think I told you about how I don't sit with my back to doors?"
Hermione nods.
"I've been diagnosed with PTSD. I get flashbacks and nightmares and have been battling severe anxiety. I've been working with a mind healer to let go of some of the intense guilt and shame I carry around every day. It's gotten better over the years. But right after the war, around the time of my trial I–" his voice breaks. "I didn't want to be alive anymore. I thought the world would be better off without me. It took a lot to convince me otherwise. My mum, Blaise, and Theo all stuck with me. They wouldn't let me out of their sight after the trial and finally convinced me to see a mind healer. But it was you who saved my life, Hermione. It was something you said during my trial. You pointed out that I was only a child and you asked where the adults who were supposed to protect me were. That I was a victim and survivor as much as you or Luna or Harry.
"I don't think you understand what your testimony did for me. You kept me out of Azkaban, but you also gave me permission to start to forgive myself. You gave me permission to be angry. I'll never forget seeing you standing there livid, hair crackling, staring down the full Wizengamont. And you were right. The adults in our life failed us. And while I still made choices I regret and hurt people irreparably, I was a child only trying to survive."
Hermione crawls toward him and cradles his head in her arms. He can hear the beating of her heart and feel the warmth of her chest against his cheek. "I'm so sorry Draco. I'm sorry for what happened to you when you were growing up. And I'm sorry for the way people still see you and treat you, even though you've changed. It's easy for people to associate the war with your family name and place blame at your feet. But it's not fair. And I, for one, am so glad you are still with us. The world is better for having you in it."
"Hermione?"
"Yes?"
He looks up and meets her eyes. "What made you testify on my behalf all those years ago?"
"I saw your heart." She strokes his face affectionately. "I knew it was good."
He shakes his head. "But how?"
"Draco, even at your nastiest your humanity shone through. You were terrified. Even in this very room, I remember seeing the fear in your eyes. I remember the way you were in sixth year–it was honestly alarming. I also saw you falter and start to pull away from the Death Eaters and reject the narrative you had been fed growing up. Fear and hate couldn't sustain you. I could see the love you had for your family and the way you were just a scared kid in a horrible situation. You were trying to protect yourself and your family. Something I could–and still can–understand. I also did dramatic and harmful things to protect my family. Not to mention, you saved my life–twice!"
He scoffs, but pulls her closer. "I've put your life in danger far more times. But thank you." He tips her chin up and stares deep into her beautiful brown eyes, willing her to see the genuineness of his words.
Draco closes his eyes, trying to sort through his thoughts. "Hermione…I don't think I've ever fully apologized for what happened when we were growing up–" She opens her mouth to interrupt but he stops her with a finger to her lips. "No, listen. I've got to get this out. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for calling you names and making you feel small. I'm sorry for believing the disgusting lies my father told me about how the world works. I'm sorry for not being brave enough to stand up to him or anyone else when I finally realized how wrong he was. I'm so sorry I let Bella hurt you. That I didn't say or do anything, didn't distract her or beg for her to stop–" his voice breaks off in a sob.
"You couldn't have stopped her, Draco. It's not your fault."
"But I could've stopped myself from bullying you. And I could've taken Dumbledore's offer to help me instead of letting him die. I stood by and let so much happen, even when I knew it was wrong."
"Draco, look at me." He can't meet her eyes. "Draco, please."
He looks up, her face blurry through his tears.
"I forgive you. I accept your apology. The war took so much from us. Friends, family members, our childhoods. Don't let it take anything else." She kisses his hands, murmuring against his skin in between kisses. "You're a good man, Draco. I've watched you make amends and pay reparations. Start rehabilitation programs and use your expertise to help the Ministry protect people against Dark Magic. Be a good friend and a good son."
Draco is openly sobbing now, tears tracing paths down his cheeks. He holds her left arm and kisses the scar raised on her pale skin. Mudblood. The word is like a challenge, one that will forever remind him of who he was. Hermione stands up and pulls him to his feet. She murmurs, "I forgive you" over and over as she kisses his eyes, his tear-stained cheeks, his neck. She reaches for his left arm and traces the scar left by the Dark Mark and the daffodils around it.
"We both carry reminders of that time in our lives. Both physically and internally." She holds his hands. "And we both deserve to be happy. We're going to figure out who is framing you and then we're going to find our happiness together. Deal?"
He shakes his head, in awe. How did I get this lucky? "Deal."
They find each other's lips again and this time the kiss is passionate, bordering on desperation. Draco twines his fingers in her hair pulling her close. He is breathless with want and overcome by intense gratitude and love for the woman in his arms. Pulling her away from the drawing room he manages to groan, "bedroom" before she jumps into his arms and they are kissing again. He tastes redemption on her tongue.
Hermione can feel Draco's strong arms holding her as he carries her up the stairs. They make it to the first landing where he places her on the windowsill and pulls up her dress, gripping her thighs. It's as if sparklers are going off in her brain. She can feel the cold glass panes against her shoulders contrasting with the fiery warmth growing between their bodies. Eyes closed, her fingers mussing his gorgeous platinum hair. In every open-mouthed kiss, she tries to communicate her lust, trust, and forgiveness. Hermione's thoughts are barely coherent as he kneels in front of her.
"May I?" Draco hooks his fingers under her underwear.
"Yes." Her voice is breathless as he pulls them slowly down and off of her feet. He maintains eye contact as he lowers his mouth to her thighs, feathering small kisses up and down, ignoring her molten core. She's squirming, the sensation of hot breath against her skin driving her wild.
He chuckles. "What do you want, Granger?"
"You. Your mouth. On me." She's gasping.
"You're going to need to be a little bit more specific. My mouth on you where?" There's a twinkle in his eye.
She playfully swats at him. "You know where, Malfoy."
"I'm going to need you to say it, darling." His voice is a low purr, the archness of his aristocratic pronunciation turning her insides to jelly. She can feel the heat rushing to her face, feeling suddenly shy and exposed. Draco rubs deliciously slow circles on her thighs and waits. "You can have anything you want Hermione, all you have to do is ask."
She realizes his insistence is twofold. He wants to be completely sure I want this with him. A different kind of warmth floods her chest. She's possessed by a deep sense of safety and security. So she arches her eyebrow, looks him dead in the eye and says "I want your mouth on my pussy, Draco Malfoy."
He groans and obliges, at last. Anchoring his arms around her hips, he flattens his tongue and licks from her opening to her mons in one swift motion–as if eating an ice cream cone. The contact sends a jolt to her very core. "You taste as sweet as honey." His voice vibrates against her, muffled.
Focusing on her clit, he takes his time, licking and sucking in equal measure. As her legs start to shake around his head, he takes his index finger and circles her entrance. "May I?"
"Yes. Yes, yes, yes." Her eyes are closed, head thrown back and she can feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she pants.
Gently he inserts his finger inside of her, crooking it in a "come hither motion", pressing it repeatedly against her g-spot. Her hands are intertwined in his hair, securing his head in place. She can't seem to catch her breath, the sensations building and building as his tongue circles and his finger finds the perfect spot. "Draco. Oh Merlin. Draco I'm so close."
She leans forward and meets his eyes as she comes completely undone. Waves of pleasure roll through her body as she finally drops off the cliff that's been building. He keeps his mouth on her, sucking slightly at the end, prolonging her orgasm. As she comes down from the high he releases her and starts massaging her hips, legs and feet. It feels as if he's conducting energy with his touch, moving it through her body.
"You are unreal, Hermione." Draco is looking at her hungrily. "Delicious."
She leans her head back against the window. "That felt amazing. Thank you."
"Believe me, there is more where that came from. I'd happily stay between these beautiful thighs forever."
She laughs. "Should we continue this party upstairs? I'd love to actually make it to your bedroom one of these days…"
"Good point. Let's hurry up before the universe can throw another interruption our way." He picks up her underwear and puts them in his back pocket, then reaches out his hand and helps her up. "My room is to the right at the top of the stairs. I've got to silence the portrait gallery quickly."
He points her toward his door and then quickly covers sleeping portraits with the heavy velvet drapes and silencio charm he used downstairs.
Hermione opens his door slowly and looks into Draco's room. The first thing she notices is the scent of apples, sandalwood and frankincense hanging in the air. It smells like Draco. She takes a deep steadying breath and steps in. An imposing dark carved wooden four poster bed impressively takes up most of the room. Light streams in from the open windows highlighting the dark gray linen sheets and luxurious carpet. The room is dark but not foreboding, fresh flowers sitting on the matching dresser and a stack of books on the bedside table. A green robe is draped over an armchair by the fireplace and matching slippers embroidered with Draco's initials sit perfectly positioned underneath. It looks lived in–the personal belongings not quite matching up with the grandiose style of the bedframe.
"My style is a bit simpler these days." Draco laughs coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around Hermione, kissing her shoulder. "But I can't bring myself to get rid of the bedframe. It was thirteen year old Draco's dream."
"Honestly, the carpentry is beautiful."
He shakes his head. "I'm not sure it was the carpentry I was drawn to then, Granger." Grabbing her hand he leads her to the bed and sits down. She steps in between his legs and kisses the tip of his nose.
"I like your bedroom, Draco. It feels like you." She smiles at him. "Now, shall we pick up where we left off? Otherwise I may just fall asleep…"
"We can go to sleep, Granger. No need to rush things–I know you must be exhausted." He smiles up at her.
She shakes her head. "No. I want you first. And then I want to sleep for twenty four hours straight and pretend the world doesn't exist." Hermione leans down and kisses him deeply.
He starts to pull her dress up and she lifts her arms, letting him remove it completely. With her underwear already in his back pocket, she's fully exposed. His eyes rove her body, the lust unmistakeable. Still, she feels a bit self conscious.
Draco runs a finger down her hip. "You are exquisite, Hermione."
"Now it's your turn, Malfoy." She starts to unbutton his shirt, exposing his strong chest and abs, stomach still scarred from the sectumsempra spell Harry threw at him years ago. She traces it with her finger, then her tongue. A trail of pale hair leads her eyes down to his crotch where she can see a bulge straining his slacks. He stands up and makes quick work of the rest of his clothes.
She smiles at him and pulls him with her onto the bed. He leans back against the pillows, one arm behind his head, one over her lap. She traces the lines of his chest smiling at him. "If either of us looks divine, it's you, Draco. You're like a Michaelangelo sculpture–carved from marble."
He laughs. "It's Quidditch. I've been obsessively flying since I was a kid. It's one of the only things that's ever made me feel free."
She moves lower, kissing the top of his thighs. "Well I for one am not complaining." She hovers her hand over his penis, standing tall against his stomach. "May I return the favor?"
Draco nods. "Only if you want to."
She smiles wickedly and then takes him into her mouth. She can taste the saltiness of his pre-cum on her tongue. As her nose buries in his light curls she can smell a muskiness. Draco is large enough she struggles to fit him completely in her mouth. Reaching her hand up to grasp around his shaft she looks up at him. He groans loudly. "Granger. Fuck."
Draco's eyes are hooded with desire and Hermione meets his gaze, moving her mouth up and down, swirling her tongue around the delicate spot under the head. She lets him fall out of her mouth with a pop and then licks her way back up to the tip. Draco pulls her up. "Need to be inside you. Is that okay?"
She climbs on top and positions herself over him. Using her hand to guide him inside of her, she sinks down slowly. They both moan at the sensation. She hasn't been with anyone since her one night stand with Rhys a few years back. She relishes in the feeling of fullness before starting to move her hips. Draco's hands come up to her hips and he groans. "Hermione. You feel so good. So warm."
He lets her set the pace and she leans down to kiss him, her hair curtaining their faces. As she moves with more abandon, she can feel something start to build in her stomach. Draco watches her face and reaches his hand between them to rub circles around her combination of penetration and stimulation nearly sends her over the edge immediately. Hermione braces her hands on his chest and closes her eyes, caught up in the sensation of his hands on her, the smell of him on her skin and the taste of him still on her tongue.
"I'm close. Gods, Hermione. Do you want me to pull out?" Draco's voice has an edge of urgency as he holds himself at bay.
She shakes her head and smiles. "No, I've done a contraceptive charm earlier."
He nods and increases the speed of his thrusts until he's gasping, one hand still rubbing circles on her clit and she's falling with him, both of them riding out their orgasms in each other's arms.
When they've caught their breath, Draco pulls out. She can feel wetness dripping from between her legs but he's already there with a towel to gently wipe her clean.
"You know, you can always use a scourgify" she teases, but secretly she's grateful for the increased intimacy of his touch.
He smiles at her. "I'm not worried about a mess. Just want to keep you comfortable."
She leans her head on his chest as he lies back down and pulls the covers over them. "Well, that was fun." She tries to keep her voice light, but it doesn't match the emotional intensity of what they've shared.
Draco kisses the top of her head. "I've been wanting this for a long time. Not just the sex–all of it. I feel like I'm dreaming."
Hermione pinches his ribs and laughs. "No, I'm still here. And I'll be here when you wake up as well."
He yawns. "I am knackered." Using wandless magic he closes the curtains over the windows, plunging the room into darkness. "Sweet dreams, Hermione. Wake me up if you need anything."
She's already nodding off in his arms.
