Ambush at the Ministry of Magic

by Rita Skeeter

The Ministry of Magic has been ambushed. Muggles and Wizards combined forces in large numbers and fought off the Death Eaters present to gain entry to the Ministry. It seems that their plan to stop the flow of fog worked, and several casualties occurred.

We promise you that our Empire's land is safe. Our wards are strengthened every day. It's still time for you to make the right decision and join the Empire, the one and only safe, structured and prosperous place left.

Make the right choice, make the only choice.

Restored article of EMPIRE THIS WEEK
found tucked in a Bible in a church [1.03.2006]


Draco had brought Hermione to the lodge in Yorkshire Dales. She had requested that they talk in a remote place far from the Empire. The Dark Lord had called an emergency meeting with the remaining Gamemasters and closest followers to discuss yesterday's skirmish at the Ministry—that's what he had told her.

She had forced him to eat something, shower and get a change of clothes. She had also insisted that he sleeps, but he was very stubborn about not sleeping when she was about to tell him everything.

As soon as they arrived, she looked at her inked wrist and expected pain to come. "You didn't deactivate it," she stated. "How come—"

She stopped mid-sentence. Draco was already walking towards the lodge, hands in his pockets. Keela was roaming on the frozen grass, head high to smell the wind. He halted and looked back at her.

"Why is it not hurting?" she demanded, still on her spot.

"I think you know."

Her eyes fell on her wrist again. Acidity was churning in her stomach, making her feel ill—but it wasn't the tattoo. It should have been the tattoo.

"Since when?" her voice was dry. She should have felt pain.

He drew a long inhale. "Can we go inside?"

She walked briskly toward the lodge and passed in front of him, not waiting for him. He followed.

The lodge was warm even if it wasn't even noon. She went directly to the living room on the left, removed her boots and stood on the rug. Outside, Draco whistled for Keela to come and they strolled in a few seconds later.

The door closed shut. Keela's claws clicked on the floor as she went to lay under the kitchen table in the other room.

He removed his cloak, draping it against the backrest of the couch, before sitting on it. It was an old-looking piece of furniture the colour of seafoam, with floral patterns.

"Since when?" she repeated. She wished she didn't sound this angry—she wasn't sure if it really was anger simmering inside her.

"Since the night Keela got tortured." His eyes were earnest, unblinking. "You slept in my bed."

"But—why?" Her chest was tighter, pressuring against her heart. "I don't understand why you would do something like that."

His expression changed slightly—it hardened. The skin of his jaw pulled on the muscles as he clenched his teeth.

"I really thought I've been obvious since that day," he remarked.

"Stop being mysterious."

"I just said I thought I was obvious."

She crossed her arms to make a point and he sighed, mumbling. He threaded his fingers through his hair and sat back deeper in the couch.

"I wanted to have the possibility of taking you away at any moment." He spoke with confidence, but not looking her quite in the eye. "I don't want Theo to get you out. I don't want the fucking Order to do it. I want me to do it."

It sounded selfish. It was.

But she didn't care.

"Why didn't you?" Her voice cut sharp in the room.

"First, because you wouldn't have left with your parents' situation. Second, because you wouldn't leave without trying."

"Trying what?"

"To finish what Potter started, whatever it was."

And there it was—Draco knew or had suspected something for a while. She remembered that night he was speaking of, the night she spent in his bed. That evening, he blamed her for intellectualising his opinion on mudbloods.

It was time to have that conversation. They came here for it.

But now he had brought up an entirely different topic.

He wanted to get her out.

She could have gotten out weeks, months ago.

She could have not killed number 7 and number 25.

But her deal with Voldemort would have been broken.

Draco hadn't even mentioned that she could have left because that would have meant his death sentence. If she left,hewould be blamed.

Her pulse was beating wildly and she unfolded her arms, shaking some blood back into them. She started pacing in the small living room. There was an itch crawling on her skin, an itch for pain—and she couldn't reach out and drag her fingernails into her flesh, ripping herself up.

He would pounce on her in a beat to stop her.

"I will tell you everything," she said quickly, feeling agitated. "But I need you to not interrupt me, because I will lose my train of thought."

"Fine." He was following her moves with his eyes, and she couldn't help but notice how long his legs were when he was sitting. The couch was low, but his boots were flat on the ground, the bend of his thighs at an acute angle.

His back was no longer pressed against the backrest. He was leaning forward, forearms braced on his knees. The Dark Mark on his left forearm was as black as night, taunting her and reminding her that she was probably making a bad choice.

"Granger," his low voice brought her eyes back to his. "You don't have to." He took a breath. "Tell me anything, I mean."

She nodded frantically. "I do. Because I can't do it alone."

"It doesn't have to be me. If you'd rather Theo or—" He cut himself short, because frustration had veiled his eyes. She could tell how uncomfortable and maybe painful for him the thought of her trusting Theo more than him was.

She stopped pacing. "It has to be you." She swallowed. "But don't interrupt me. I'll answer every question you have after."

His gaze shifted to something playful. "You're the boss."

Thoughts racing a mile an hour, the past started unfolding in her mind. She saw flashes of her memories, weighted by an unmatched level of sadness and grief.

She told him everything that she deemed crucial. The Horcruxes, the hunt, the Peverell brothers and the Deathly Hallows, her readings, Dobby's death, the Battle, Snape's death and memories, Harry's discovery of him being an Horcrux, his death, his burial, the battle at the Cottage, her escape with Ginny and Neville, her seven years in hiding as she tried to find how to finish Harry's mission.

When she was done, she felt void and dry. Her stomach was clenching with stress—she didn't know how he would react. Nervously, she watched him closely, looking for any sign of emotion on his face.

But his expression was blank. He wasn't looking at her—his eyes were lost somewhere on the wall behind her, blinking slowly.

She waited in front of him for what felt like minutes. Her feet were aching with exhaustion, so she plopped down on the couch next to him. It was long enough so two feet of space were separating them. The mere possibility of them even touching was radiating heat through her whole body.

Then Draco started laughing. It was more of a chuckle. Something contained, controlled, but rooted deep in his core. A joyful sound that made her heart flutter because his smile had just brightened the entire room.

"What is it?" she asked, frowning.

"I'm just—fuck." He rubbed his eyes as he kept chuckling. When he lowered his arms and looked at her, her pulse faltered. "I'm just so fucking glad that somebody can confirm that he is killable."

His words were like an injection of relief in her bloodstream. Slowly, her muscles relaxed and she exhaled the tension out of her lungs.

"But this is insane." He turned to face her on the sofa, his arm resting flat against the backrest. His hand gripped the cushion, his knuckles white. Madness, determination and hope burnt in his eyes. "That sodding shit of a snake. I knew there was something with her. She's the last one."

"I have no idea what to do." Her mind had gone silent, retreating back to the numb limbo it nested in. "I don't know how we'll manage to kill the snake, to kill him. We don't have the elder wand, we're outnumbered and—"

"Granger." He sat even closer, and his knee bumped into hers. His hand settled on her knee, heat spreading under his skin.

Her tired eyes flickered up to his.

"There's a whole fucking army of Wizards and Muggles out there whose only goal is to kill that psychopath. There's a revolution coming."

"It's a civil war." Her voice was barely a whisper.

"What?"

She inhaled louder. "There's a civil war coming."

He didn't answer, but his fingers tightened on her knee. A fire was simmering in his eyes. "The Order knows about the Horcruxes, Longbottom and the Weasleys too. Let them handle this. Doesn't have to be you. You don't have to save anyone."

She backed away from his touch. "If you knew me at all, you'd know that I can't let others fight my battles."

"This is not your battle, Granger," he snapped. "It's everyone's."

Her nerves were sparking with tension, her body clenching up once again. She already missed his touch and the cold print it left on her knee.

"What are you suggesting, then? Let them do the dirty work without raising a finger?"

His tone remained unwavering. "I'll tell you how fucking simple it is for me." He leaned closer so he could catch her stare. "If you tell me you won't fight and you want to leave, we'll leave. If you tell me you'll fight, we'll fight."

She bolted to her feet, the pressure of a wayward, crushing emotion falling on her. "No, no." Erratic thoughts bounced around her skull. Bubbling, boiling feelings. "You have no right to… to speak this way."

She faced him, fully standing, as blood rushed to her neck and her cheeks. The craving for any kind of release—pain, especially pain—gnawed at her insides. Her eyes skimmed around the room, looking for anything sharp or heavy that could harm her. Of course she wouldn't do it.

"What did I say?" His voice was emotionless.

"We."

One of his brows quirked up. "Okay?"

Her entire foundation was shaking, unstable. Uncontrollable. "You said 'we', like you're ready to follow me to hell and back! Like I'm the one deciding, and you'll follow blindly no matter what! 'We', like we're already at this point in—" she gestured at the both of them, "whatever this is, like it's normal. Like it's good. Like it doesn't matter what you want or need. Like I'm deserving of—"

"If you're about to say something about you not deserving something, I swear to Merlin I'll shut you up myself." His words were ice like steel. Slowly, he peeled himself off the couch and got up, extending to his full height.

"I want to know—I need to know what you really feel about me." Her voice was quivering, and she hated every unconfident note she heard in it. There was hope burning in her core, because she was more than able to logically analyse his body behaviour towards her. Draco was attracted to her, like she was to him. But she also wished it was more than that.

Part of her hoped to hear him say that she was nothing, like all mudblood cockroaches. That he only kissed her and touched because he had primal needs and felt nothing whatsoever.

Because that would mean he would hurt her.

That would finally give her a reason to hate him again.

He towered over her, casting his shadow over her—she was even smaller without her boots.

He was scowling. "I'm not gonna tell you how I feel, Granger."

"We need to talk about—"

"You still know how to be insufferable, you know that?" he cut, and she felt the jab of hurt it caused her. His opinion mattered to her—strangely, unbelievably—and she bestowed on his words a power that others had never had over her. When did that happen?

Barely a week ago, he told her he couldn't hate her. Had kissed and hugged her in her room, whispering that she wasn't a monster. That he knew she wanted him to hate her.

"What will feelings change?" he added, head tilting slightly. Her eyes were riveted on his mouth as he spoke, remembering how it danced with hers, how it tasted. "Because this is about feelings, right?"

"Feelings allow me to know where I stand." She swallowed the hard knot in her throat, wrenching her gaze away from the plane of his shoulders, of his corded forearms.

"You're afraid it's just for fun." Not a question. "Aren't you?"

She took a step away, allowing oxygen that wasn't Draco-scented to fill her lungs. She shouldn't have engaged in this conversation with him right now.

The urge to bolt out the door and the need to leap on him were equally battling inside her.

"I don't need to tell you how I feel, Granger," he stepped toward her, crowding her. "I think showing is more telling."

The texture of the air changed, and the area between her legs grew hotter.

His voice dropped even lower. "Will you run away if I kiss you now?"

She swallowed, air leaving her lungs. "No," she squeaked.

His mouth crashed on her, hands caging her face. The sheer boldness of this kiss made her legs wobbly as her arms automatically grabbed the back of his head for purchase. Even as he kissed her with hunger and need, he kept pushing forward, forcing her to back away. He advanced, head tilted to the side, and she stumbled until her back slammed against the window, rattling the glass.

She couldn't understand how each kiss could be better than the last. The sensations he prompted inside her was a chorus of burning desires. Her mouth opened wider and she pushed her tongue further in his warm mouth.

He moaned and peeled his lips for a second to tilt his head to the other side and dove back. "I think of this," he rasped, one hand sliding down her side to grab her waist, "every fucking day."

Liquid heat spread in her lower abdomen as she sighed against his mouth. She grabbed the collar of his uniform to tug him closer. There wasn't enough of him against her.

They should stop.

A hot pocket of pure wildness was pulsing between her legs, as he kissed her like the world was ending. Maybe it was.

They should stop.

He had evaded the whole feeling issue. Dodged it by simply enforcing his charm on her. But she was tired. Tired of trying to understand what this was. Maybe there weren't any layers to peel.

"Maybe we should—" she said, voice hoarse, "discuss this." Her mouth found his, kissing him even more frantically.

He dipped his head to her throat, teeth grazing against her skin. "Talk." A ripple of exhilaration shivered through her body, sparking each of her nerves. "I'll listen."

He sucked on her earlobe, sending gooseflesh across her entire body. Her mind blanked momentarily as she tried to gather her thoughts.

"I-I think we wouldn't be—oh god," Draco's hand was splayed on her back, his hot breath against her ear and Merlin, the sounds she made, "doing this if… we didn't feel… anything."

Her back arched against him, her hands curling in his hair as she tilted her head to give him even more of her neck.

When he paused, he pried his head from her clavicle, a voracious look in his eyes. "Of course we're feeling things," he blurted out, slightly breathless. "I've got an extremely big feeling right now."

He pressed his body against her and she felt his erection through his pants, hard and bulky against her hip. Her thoughts dissolved as flames erupted inside of her. Between her legs, she was ready for him. Already. The imagination of his cock stretching her nearly made her knees buckle.

He attacked her neck again, groaning in the back of his throat. "Keep talking." His fingers started tugging down at the zipper of her uniform. Excruciatingly slow, he unzipped millimetres at a time until the top of her tank bra was visible.

"Lost your tongue?" he taunted, voice steaming on her skin.

With both hands, she grabbed his head and angled it at her so she could kiss him, thrusting her tongue eagerly in his mouth. A moan escaped her when his hands roamed down her thighs, lifting one of her legs against him. His rough palm stroked the side of her leg, pulling behind her knee to yank her even closer.

Maybe she could just—finally—indulge and forget.

Because this, this felt good.

It felt normal.

She pushed against his chest to break the kiss, but their position remained locked. "Tell me what you want," she said, assured and demanding. She hoped he could discern the wildfire he had sparked in her.

His eyes darkened, mouth inches from hers. "What I want is not really courteous."

Heat sizzled in her veins. She licked her lips. "I don't want it to be."

His hand holding her leg dug into her skin through her uniform, mouth dropping to her ear so he could whisper. "I want to fuck you against that window."

Adrenaline pulsed through her bloodstream as she immediately went back to his mouth. Draco tugged down the zipper in one quick motion until it reached its end, right below her bellybutton. The cold of the glass bit into her back.

He didn't even gaze down, still kissing her, as he frantically guided her arms out of her sleeves. The upper part of the uniform sagged down, and he put down her leg so she could wriggle out of the lower part.

She was bare, weak and too skinny. But she decided to forget about it when she fiddled with the first buttons of his uniform. In one quick motion, he shrugged off his shirt and discarded it on the side. She broke the kiss and took a moment to look at him. His chest was pale and hard, his shoulders and biceps bulging with lean muscles that could lift her up.

Her eyes travelled on him, his pectorals, trailing down to the muscles incurving to a V-shape inside his trousers.

"You look—" Her breath hitched in her throat. "You're beautiful." She had never complimented another man's body. Those words had escaped her.

In response, he clutched at her hair to draw her closer. She was impatient, eager, wet for him. The wait was painful.

She wrenched his belt off and he slid off his trousers, removing each of his boots with the help of the other foot. His cock was bulging against his boxer, and she hungrily hooked her arms under his, looping around his back.

"Please," she croaked, pressing her hips into him.

"You want me to take you, Granger?" His voice was guttural like sandpaper.

"Yes."

His fingers toyed at the clasp of her tank bra. "Right now?"

She arched against him. "Yes." She met his eyes. "Right fucking now."

"I love when you curse." With one flick of his fingers, he unclasped her bra, the fabric jerking to the side as her breasts spilled free under his sight. She worked out of the straps and the bra fell on the ground.

His pupils dilated as his eyes roved on her chest, her pink nipples already hard with desire. His hands cupped both of her breasts as his lips crashed on hers again. Kneading them, feeling them—how they fitted against his palms, how she flexed when he tweaked her nipples.

"Fucking fuck, Granger." His mouth was demanding, claiming and kissing her at a pace she could barely match. The strokes of his thumbs against her nipples set her limbs ablaze.

He abandoned one of her breasts, hooking his other fingers on the seam of her underwear. He tugged them down her legs and she threw them away at the end of her toes. She kept kissing him, kissing him, their tongues dancing in a desperate twirl.

As his hand rolled her nipple between his index and thumb, his other hand dipped between her legs.

"Draco—" she whimpered.

He dragged his middle finger against the length of her folds, groaning with pleasure in her mouth. "You're dripping." His thumb circled her clit and her vision blurred as a cry tore away from her. "Yes. Sing for me." He gathered her moisture and rubbed at her nub.

She leaned back her head against the window, her curls sticking to her sweaty neck. Whimpers and moans climbed out of her lungs as she panted for air. Pleasure was building up inside of her and she craved for something to clench.

She begged him once more.

Leaving her clit and her breast, he hoisted her up in his arms like she weighted feathers. She wrapped her legs around his waist and hooked her ankles behind his back as she pressed her own spine against the window for purchase. He kept one hand under her arse as he removed his boxers with the other.

She couldn't see his cock at this angle.

He guided himself at her entrance and he hissed when the tip pressed against her wet opening. Pausing, making sure she was ready, he looked her directly in the eyes.

"We can still—" he started.

"Please."

He entered her fully with one, slick thrust, and she gasped with pain. The amount of moisture she had made his entrance smooth and easy, but the stretch was tender. She hadn't had another man inside her in years. The sensation was both foreign and familiar.

His head dropped against her chest as he tensed against her, not moving yet. "You feel so good, Hermione," he murmured against her skin, and she shivered at the sound of her name. Now both of his hands were under her arse.

The pain was dimming to an ache as she adjusted, and her muscles relaxed. Draco felt the change, reading her body like a book, and started to move. She rocked her hips against him to meet each of his thrust. They kept a steady, smooth pace for a little while, and the pain became only a memory. Leaving so something else could replace it.

Something wild. Something heady.

"Harder," she allowed him, mouth to his temple.

She felt his agreement in the form of a deep, powerful thrust. Followed by many more, as rough and deep.

Her back was sliding up and down against the glass. Each time he slid out of her, he rammed back into her to the hilt, rattling the glass behind her. The tension was coiling inside her, gathering in a hot, pulsing knot. Her breath was coming in short, clipped moans at every slam of his cock.

"You're taking all of me," he groaned, head diving to her neck. "This is so. Fucking. Good." His breath was hot on her collarbone. "You're amazing."

His praise made her clench even more around him, and he hissed with glee. She didn't care about her loud whimpers, about the squeaking sound of her sweaty back against the window. She'd been wanting this for so long, now. And he was giving it to her. Draco Malfoy was pumping into her.

She fisted her fingers in his hair and guided him toward her chest, arching to offer herself up. Her mind was going blank, her vision dotted with white spots and sparks as pleasure was climbing inside of her.

He took her nipple in his mouth, sucking like a sour candy. He growled against her breast, and the wet noise he made doubled her elation. "Draco, yes… God." She clawed at his shoulders, scratching his back for lack of other things to grab.

Sensations were boiling up inside her, swelling and escalating and she knew she had maybe a minute left. So she matched his pace, grinding her hips simultaneously to meet his thrusts—sliding down when he sank inside, sliding up when he pulled out.

"You're fucking amazing at this," he praised with a grating voice.

He was moaning too—feral grunts each time he rammed into her. Every sound he made tightened the throbbing knot in her cunt. Soon enough, their pants and moans were synchronised, and their lips met again to kiss feverishly.

Pleasure crested in her entire body as her orgasm detonated and spilled out of her. She clenched around him as her entire world shattered. White spots and stars were blinking in front of her eyes and he fucked her through waves after waves after waves of pleasure, tearing loud cries of bliss out of her.

"You're dripping on me," he moaned, lifting a hand to grab the back of her head. "Fuck, I'm gonna—" He reached his climax with a powerful thrust, exhaling with a hiss. His cock loosened but he didn't pull out. Instead, he reached between their bodies and he kept stimulating her, working her clit with dexterous fingers.

The tug of another orgasm ascended inside her.

When he pulled his cock out, she knew his cum was dripping out of her, but she didn't care. He picked her up, pushed his tongue inside her mouth to swallow her moans, and moved them to the kitchen.

Keela left the kitchen and trotted in the living room, unbothered.

Draco sat her on the kitchen table and as he kept devouring her lips, he sank two fingers at once inside of her and started pumping. "I can do this all day, Hermione," he growled in her mouth.

"Oh, my god," she panted, arching, pressing her breasts against his chest. Her walls were tightened around his fingers. As another hot, pulsing orgasm swelled in her core, she leaned back, elbows on the table, to look at him.

She was on full display for him, and she watched his wild and dark eyes contemplating her glistening cunt as he kept thrusting his fingers inside of her. His gaze trailed up her body until it reached her face.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, and his voice was soft, admiring.

One of her hands came to her own breast and she started tweaking and rolling her nipple under his eyes, neck falling back to the ceiling. He cursed under his breath as her spine arched on the table.

He added a third finger, sinking deep to his knuckles. When his thumb came back around her clit, her climax collapsed on her like a massive boulder, fracturing her vision and sensation in thousands of pieces. She yelled his name as her entire body tensed and spasmed with overwhelming pleasure.

He worked her clit for a few more moments, and she squeezed her eyes shut, mind blurred and scattered. His fingers slid out of her and she was left shaking and panting, flat on the table.

She looked back at him. He tenderly kissed the inside of her knee before sucking at his middle finger, licking her moisture. He closed his eyes to relish the taste and moaned with delight.

Just this sound and the sight of him tasting her like that—

She wanted him again.

She sat up and hooked her arms behind his neck. His arms snaked around her immediately, keeping her flush against him. She stared at him with both awe and want, her breathing finally slowing down.

"I can't believe we did that," she said softly.

He clutched a fistful of her hair behind her neck—not painfully—and brought her mouth to his. He kissed her tenderly, with extreme care and gloriously slow.

"I can," he replied. "And I know what you're thinking."

She frowned at him.

He kissed her left cheek. "You want to do it again." He kissed her right cheek. "But you're worried that the only thing I want is this." He cupped her face and kissed her forehead, lingering, before pulling away to look at her, hands still on her face.

"I'm not good at feelings, Granger. I can't tell you what I feel, because I don't know. It's a mess. It's a mix. There's just a hurricane of things that I feel for you that are way more than physical and I can't name them. It's complicated, okay? I hope it's enough for you."

She grabbed his wrists and clung to him, thumbs caressing the inside of his wrists. That was how she felt too and she realised that maybe—no, it didn't matter if feelings had names.

"You're enough for me," she murmured, not tearing her eyes away from him. He was so beautiful, so stunningly perfect, and a twinge of desire cramped her guts. Desire for him, for his existence to merge with hers, for his universe to collide with hers.

"You're also worried that this will change everything." His expression hardened just slightly with hunger. He brought his face inches from hers. "I'll tell you what will change. First, we'll probably do this every fucking day. I don't care where and how we'll hide, we'll manage that."

Her breath hitched in her throat at the anticipation that it could—will—happen again.

"Second," he added, sliding his hands down to grab her hips, "we'll spend every waking hour coming up with a plan to bring the Dark Lord down. If you want a gun, I'll get you one. If you want your wand back, I'll get it for you. If you want to work with the Order, I'll bring you to them myself. If you want to leave tomorrow, we'll leave at dawn."

"Draco—"

"I will not stay away from you, Granger." He was sharp now, eyes blazing through her with intensity. "And you will never ask this of me. I'm not a big strong man who makes big bold decisions. I just do what I have to do. And I don't care if what I'm telling you scares you because it's too much. That's how things are, and that's how they'll be."

"I just can't understand how you can feel this way for me," she whispered. "There's no reason for you to be with me, for you to feel this way…" She didn't want to sound self-depreciating; she just couldn't grasp this reality. Of Draco having nameless feelings for her. They had nothing in common. "I don't even know what happened that got us to this point."

"Does it matter?" His brows creased. "Honestly, do you need a reason? An essay, maybe?"

"Don't be snide."

"I don't need a good reason. And I will not rack my brain trying to find one. Now—" he brought his lips an inch from hers, his breath gliding in her mouth, "I'll kiss you again and after that, I'll tell you a metaphor."

She couldn't even reply because he dove on her mouth, awaking every thrilling sensation again. His palms were on her face again as he kissed her with appetite, coaxing her jaw open. His tongue passionately danced with hers, each slow twirls of his sending ripples of hunger through her body. He kissed her deeply like she was his last meal, devouring and savouring her, and the wet noise of their tongues twisting was drawing tiny moans from her.

She liked being kissed slowly so, so much.

She couldn't forget that they were both naked—and he was right there. If he wanted, he could simply take his cock and push it inside her without moving a muscle. And she would let him.

At last, he broke the kiss breathlessly and pressed his forehead against hers. She knew he had a full bird view of her breasts. His erection was clearly visible, right beside her thigh.

"I can't get enough of this," he hissed between his teeth.

"What—" Her chest was heaving with rapid motions, "what's the metaphor?"

His throat bobbed and he pulled away, making eye contact. "I was just thinking how I'm a just moth. Nobody really likes moths." She drew a breath to reply but he cut her short. "But you're a fucking flame, Granger. I'll always fly close to you. I can't stay away, even if it eventually turns me to ash."

She smirked. "When did you become poetic?"

He pecked the end of her nose."When the world ended."