Chapter Seven

Draco's soft footsteps echoed briefly in the hall as he bid them goodnight, his voice strained but steady. Hermione watched him, a flicker of concern passing through her heart. He was only a young man—too young for all this weight to fall on his shoulders, yet there he was, carrying it all with a quiet strength that she admired. The hug he gave her before leaving felt too brief, like something between them had cracked open but not yet healed. She held him for a moment longer than she should have, wishing there was more she could do for him, more she could say to soothe him. But there were no words. Only that strange, tender silence that hung between them.

The door clicked softly behind him, and the quiet of the room pressed in like a heavy blanket. They were alone now, the stillness wrapping around them, neither of them sure how to fill it.

But the question she had been holding onto for so long seemed to rise to the surface. She couldn't push it back any longer, not after everything they had just faced together.

Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke. "Um... would it be okay if, after... um, we let Draco come back?" Her heart was pounding in her chest, her hands almost shaking as she waited for Lucius's response.

Lucius didn't speak right away. His gaze fell to the floor, his face tightening in a way that made her heart ache for him. It was as if the weight of his past, all of his regrets and fears, were pulling him under. She could see it in the way he held himself, how he fought against her question with his silence.

Finally, he nodded. It was a small, reluctant gesture, but enough to make her breath catch in her throat. He didn't look at her, though. His eyes shifted to the side, the pain there unmistakable, raw and unhealed. The guilt was so thick around him, she could almost feel it smothering the room.

Her hand trembled as she reached for him, instinctively needing to touch him, needing him to know he wasn't alone. She gently cupped his face, her fingertips brushing the roughness of his stubble. His skin was warm under her touch, and it shook her to realize how much she had missed the simple act of connection. His eyes closed as if her touch was both a comfort and a torment.

"Can you tell me what you are thinking?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, the words carrying the weight of everything they had yet to say.

Lucius's breath hitched. He swallowed, the sound of it a rough rasp in the quiet room. She could feel the weight of his thoughts pressing against the fragile barrier between them, the hesitance in his every movement. He didn't want to speak, didn't want to give voice to the demons he carried inside. But Hermione wasn't about to let him retreat, not this time.

His eyes flicked to hers, and in that moment, she saw something break in him. Something deep and painful, like a dam finally cracking under the strain. And then, his voice, rough and jagged, cut through the silence.

"Monster."

The word hung in the air between them, heavy and suffocating. His voice was hoarse, and there was no mistaking the anguish in it. She felt her heart crack open as she watched him—this proud, broken man who had always tried so hard to hold onto his strength, now laying himself bare before her.

He tried to look away, to close himself off, but she wouldn't let him. Her grip on his face tightened, and with gentle pressure, she turned him back to her, forcing him to meet her gaze. She saw the battle in his eyes, the self-loathing that clung to him like a second skin. And it broke her, in a way she couldn't describe.

"What about a monster?" she whispered, her voice trembling as she forced herself to breathe. She hadn't heard him speak this way, hadn't ever seen him look so lost.

"I'm a monster," he said again, and this time his voice was sharper, harder. The bitterness in his tone stung, and she could feel the walls he was trying to build around himself, though she refused to let them come up.

Hermione's heart ached with the weight of his words. She shook her head, her voice soft but firm. "You are no monster."

Lucius scoffed bitterly, his gaze shifting away from hers. "You don't know what I've done," he muttered, his tone filled with disgust and pain. He tried to pull away from her touch, his hands gently tugging at her wrists. But she didn't let him go. She couldn't. Not now. Not when she could feel how close he was to breaking.

"I *do* know what you've done, Lucius," Hermione said, her voice low but steady. "And I know what you've suffered because of it. But it doesn't make you a monster. If I truly believed that, I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't be standing here, trying to hold you together." Her breath caught in her throat. She swallowed the knot that had formed there and pressed on. "I know because… because I was there too. I was part of the war, part of the things you hate most. If anything, I was everything you despised. And still... here we are. Married. About to..." She faltered, her cheeks burning, but she didn't back away. She couldn't. "And I don't regret it. Not for a second."

Lucius's hands tightened around her wrists, but it wasn't to pull her away. It was as if he was grounding himself to her touch, trying to hold onto something that wasn't filled with guilt and shame. She could see it in his eyes—the desperation, the need to believe her, to believe that she wasn't just saying these things out of pity.

But he still didn't believe it.

"I don't deserve this," he said again, his voice shaking with panic, with an emotion so raw and vulnerable that it shook her to the core.

"Lucius..." Her voice faltered, but she reached for him again, cupping his face in both of her hands. She could feel his breath hitch beneath her touch, could feel how he was barely holding it together. His eyes were wide, filled with something like fear—fear that if he let himself believe her, everything might fall apart.

But Hermione didn't pull away. She leaned in, her forehead resting against his, her breath mingling with his in a quiet, intimate embrace. "You *do* deserve this. You deserve peace. You deserve love. You deserve to heal." Her voice cracked slightly as she whispered, "And I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever."

Lucius was trembling now, his eyes filled with a storm of emotions that he couldn't name. He closed his eyes, as if the sheer force of her words was too much to bear. And then, with a slow, agonizing breath, he finally let the walls fall—just a little.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking, and in that moment, Hermione felt every inch of the pain he carried, every inch of the sorrow that had been buried for so long.

"Shh..." she murmured softly, pressing her lips to his forehead. "You don't need to apologize. You've been carrying this weight alone for so long. Let me help carry it with you."

And in that quiet, fragile moment, something shifted between them. The tears that had been threatening to spill over finally did, but they weren't just tears of sorrow—they were tears of release, of healing, of something more than both of them could understand. They were two broken people, standing in the ruins of their past, reaching for something better. And for the first time, they both believed that they could find it together.

As she steadied herself, a quiet reverence in her movements, Hermione felt her heart race with an unfamiliar tenderness. Her lips brushed gently against his cheek, then his jaw, a silent promise between them. It was soft, cautious—more a whisper than a kiss. But when she found his lips at last, it was as if the world around them held its breath.

His gasp—so soft, so raw—broke the stillness. It echoed in her chest, a reflection of the shock she felt in her own veins. His hands, unsure at first, gently traced her back, as if testing the fragility of this moment. The space between them, once a vast ocean, suddenly felt impossibly small.

Then the kiss deepened. She could feel the warmth of his lips as her own responded, slow at first, then with a yearning she couldn't explain. Her heart pounded, and it was as if every nerve in her body sparked alive. Butterflies, yes, but not just in her stomach—her very soul fluttered with a sweetness so intense, it made her head spin.

Her hands moved instinctively, threading through his hair, tugging him closer, as if she couldn't bear the distance between them. She needed this, needed him—needed to pull him into this space where everything else melted away, where this connection could take root, so new and yet, undeniably real.

Lucius's groan ripped through the air as she tugged at his hair, the movement fierce and commanding, a spark of electricity igniting between them. Her tongue grazed his, a silent, electrifying invitation that sparked something wild inside him. Without hesitation he opened to her, a low groan escaping as their tongues collided. The sensation of his kiss sent a shiver through her, an undeniable warmth unfurling deep in her stomach. It was like a slow-burning coil tightening, a rush of heat that spread through her chest and down to her fingertips. Every nerve seemed to awaken, a delicious tension building, as if his kiss had unlocked something both thrilling and uncontainable within her.

His hands began to roam over her, slow and tentative, as if each touch were a fragile experiment. His hesitation was palpable, like he was afraid to break the spell, unsure whether this moment—this connection— was real.

With a spark of boldness, Hermione leaned back, her body sinking into the plush softness of the blankets below. The sensation was luxurious, like giving in to the pull of something irresistibly tempting, as the warmth of the fabric wrapped around her, effectively pulling him atop her.

Her hands slid from his hair to the base of his neck, fingers teasingly scratching down his back. The sensation jolted through him like a live wire, sending a shudder racing down his spine. The heat of her touch burned into him, setting every nerve alight, and for a fleeting moment, he was consumed by the thrill of it—an electric hunger that left him craving more.

He hummed Softly, a warm murmur, as he shifted, his hands gently guiding her legs apart, the movement slow and intimate. His lips reluctantly left hers, only to blaze a trail of heat down her neck, each kiss sparking a fiery pulse that sent shivers through her.

Oh, his lips were sin, his fingers though rough against her soft skin, were gentle in their exploration. Slowly, they lifted the hem of the large shirt she borrowed from him earlier. Her legs bare as her underwear was revealed to him. He pulled back, looking at her as his silver blues devoured every bit of her flesh. A fire burning low in her belly as she watched him, eyes soaked in her appearance. His gaze burning with a new found fire, he had been missing since before the war.

With a gentle tug of her hand, she pulled at the hem of his own tshirt. Quietly asking for permission. Taking the hint she watched as Lucius quickly pulled the shirt from his body. She didn't get to take his bare chest in long– soon after his lips sought hers out once more, tongues gliding as he reduced her into a moaning frenzy. His hips ground into hers, his hip bones a bit sharp, but the delicious feel of his harden cock grinding against her clit causing a shudder to run down her back to her toes–curling them as she ground her hips back to his.

"Please." She begged. Her breaths coming out in pants as she held this man to her, she pulled the shirt from her own body when he seemed to hesitate from her plea. His eyes quickly cooling as he seemed to register exactly how far they had gotten, though she couldn't and wouldn't have that. This was a requirement, but even so, they were going to enjoy it.

"Lucius, please." She begged, arching her back to brush her nipple to his lips. It seemed to spur him on, as he quickly took one of her peaks into his mouth, suckling lightly before flicking it with his tongue. Quickly finding a pattern between suckling flicking and occasitional nips to have her writhing against him.

With a groan of his own, he switch nipples, his rough fingers gently pinching the previous as he started a new. His hips grinding forward, add stimulation where she needed him most as she soon began begging for more.

"Soon." He rumbled out. Lucious could feel himself crashing, his cock dripping precum within the confines of his sweats. She would be his undoing, and he was going to revel in it.

Swiftly he pulled back, a whine leaving Hermione as she reached for him, needing him against her. Pulling his sweats down enough to free his swollen cock, he jolted–a low moan tumbling from his lips as she seemed to quickly take his cock down her throat in one go. His hands quickly gripped her unruly locks as he watched her full lips take his cock to the hilt before pulling back to the tip again.

"Fuck, Hermione." He groaned, tugging her hair. A Low whine falling from his own lips as he begged for mercy.

"Please, fuck, i'll come if you don't stop." He begged as she continued to swollow him down.

Hermione reveled in the undeniable power she now held over Lucius Malfoy—a man who had always been so meticulously composed, so consumed by his own self-righteousness. The thought of him, so proud and untouchable, on the brink of unraveling beneath her touch sent a surge of intoxicating triumph through her. She was a force, and for the first time, he was entirely at her mercy.

Unfortunately, she couldn't have him finish now, they had a marriage to complete. So reluctantly she pulled off him, though not before suckling his tip. Causing him to scream. Oh it was delicious indeed. Reveling in her newfound power she let the luid grin pull to her lips.

"Fucking Minx." He hissed before through her to her back. His body quickly covering hers as he slid her panties to the side, rubbing himself against her folds before plunging in. Both of them gasping from the sensation before he painstakingly slowly began thrusting into her.

It took them a moment to find a good rhythm, that both had him groaning in her ear, and her moaning out his name like a mantra. Every brush and gasp of there skin added to the sensations wracking their nerve endings. It was all encompassing as she flexed and tightened around him. His incoherent praises as he took her.

It wasn't long though, Lucius soon found his release coming, desperate to take her with him he found her clit with his thumb. Leaning back to watch her tits bounce before him he focused on her. Her movements, her facial expressions as her climax overtook her. Eyes closed in bliss he felt her walls clamp him incredible hard. Her body so tight around him, the fluttering of her walls pulling his release from him like a tidal wave. With a thunderous groan he filled her. His body falling to hers as he they both panted in exertion.

"My beautiful monster," Hermione whispered softly, her voice filled with tenderness as her arms gently encircled his head, pulling him closer. She held him with a quiet urgency, her touch both possessive and adoring, as if the very act of holding him this close would tether him to her forever.

He kissed her softly on the lips, his breath warm against her skin as he murmured, "My beautiful wife." The words, spoken with such quiet reverence, held a depth of affection that lingered in the air between them.