"The snake," Harry said thoughtfully, his eyes distant as if he was mulling over the idea. "Makes sense."
"Great," Ron said eagerly. "Then let's just Avada the damn thing and be done with it, then."
Hermione shook her head. "Draco said she's warded. It wouldn't work."
"Draco, is it?" Ron replied, his face flushing to a deep shade of pink. "Since when?"
"Since a pair of Snatchers tried to fucking rape me, Ronald," Hermione spat.
The room went deathly quiet then.
"'Mione—" Ron began, his flush turning into a deep pink.
Hermione held up her hand, signaling for him to be quiet. "Don't call me that," she said. "I am not 'Mione. My name is Hermione. "
Ron was instantly silent, his face now a violent shade of red.
"Why does he think it's the snake?" Harry asked after a moment, his eyes now refocused.
"Draco is very good with animals—" Hermione began.
Ron scoffed. "Do you not remember Buckbeak?" he asked.
Hermione shot Ron a deadly look. "I certainly do," she replied coldly. "A lot has changed since school, Ronald, if you hadn't noticed."
"He's good with animals?" Harry asked suspiciously.
Hermione stared at him, trying to determine if he was seriously asking. The way his green eyes implored her told Hermione that he was truly asking—he truly didn't know. "Do you know how Falsitiserum is brewed—either of you?" she asked, looking back towards Ron, who was studying his shoes rather seriously.
Both Harry and Ron remained silent.
Hermione nodded, suspecting as much. Of course, she hadn't known how to brew it either. "It requires quite a bit of unicorn horn," she said quietly.
"He killed a unicorn?" Harry asked, narrowing his eyes.
Hermione matched his expression. "Absolutely not, Harry Potter. Draco asked for permission."
Ron scoffed. "He asked a fucking horse for permission?" he asked disbelievingly.
Hermione's gaze shot to Ron. "Not a horse," she replied sharply. "A unicorn. And yes, Draco asked for permission."
Ron's eyes finally met hers, and he stared at her intensely. His blue eyes met hers, and Hermione felt her breath momentarily leave her body. The number of times Hermione had pictured Harry's eyes over the past two years was immeasurable. But Ron's—the blue that stole the air from her body—she hadn't pictured them once. How had she never thought of Ron's fucking eyes? His eyes had always been her favorite.
Ron's eyes were a beautiful, nearly violent shade of blue. The first time she had looked into Ron's eyes, she had been reminded of the waves of Brighton Beach on the sunniest day she could remember. She was only eleven years old the first time she had met Ronald Weasley, and despite how cruel he had initially been to her, she had deemed his eyes the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen.
Those beautiful eyes were currently staring directly into hers. In another moment, in another time, it would have caused her heart to race. Her breath returned to her body, the initial shock of the moment quickly wearing off.
But then, as she thought more about beautiful eyes, the blue of a Brighton summer faded until they were a distinctly icy grey. Ron's eyes weren't her favorite anymore. Instead, it was Draco's eyes she was thinking about. Hermione swallowed and forced herself to look away.
The feelings she had once had for Ronald Weasley just—weren't there anymore.
Instead, there was only Draco.
Hermione clutched the coin tighter to her chest, missing him. She would see him again. "How often is The Order in contact with Draco?"
"About once a month," Shacklebolt said immediately. He also hadn't met her eyes once.
"Well, that changes now," Hermione replied fiercely. "He's a valuable spy. He brews Falsitiserum for The Order. He returned me to you. I'd say he's proven his loyalty."
Shacklebolt visibly winced while Ron shook his head, his blue eyes tightly closed. Hermione looked at Harry, who was still staring at her. Hermione stared right back at him. Neither of them blinked.
What was it like for Harry, she wondered. The Order had thought she was dead. A thought Harry had clearly not shared. What was it like to think someone was alive, when everyone else was certain of the opposite? Had he ever doubted himself, or had he always known?
Or was he currently seeing a ghost, like Hermione was?
He had been a ghost, haunting her every thought, her every dream. When she thought of him, she thought of him as a ghost. Harry was not alive. He had died two years ago. But now, he was staring unblinkingly at her, and she was staring back.
Had she been a ghost for him, too?
Had she haunted him?
She was still angry, and she certainly hoped she had haunted him.
"He needs at least a week's notice—" Harry began, when both Shacklebolt and Ron remained quiet.
"For work, I know," Hermione interrupted.
Harry was still staring at her intently, and it unsettled Hermione greatly. She swallowed again.
"I think that's it, then, Hermione?" Harry asked, his unblinking gaze still settled on her.
If she had other ideas, she currently couldn't remember them. So, she nodded. "Yes," she agreed.
Shacklebolt and Ron couldn't have left the room quicker, and then it was just Hermione and Harry. He was still staring at her. "What?" she asked, feeling her heart begin to race.
"You're fucking him," Harry said immediately, clearly an accusation.
Hermione's heart stalled in her chest. Her first thought was of the Snatchers—the one on top of her, the one Draco had initially thought he had killed. His breath—hot and sour against her skin. The Snatchers, both of them. The men Draco had wanted to kill because they had hurt her.
Then, Draco—his lips against hers. The way he curled around her when they slept. The way he kissed her. The way his breath felt against her skin. The way he touched her. He had asked for her permission every step of the way and he had been horrified when he had inadvertently scared her.
Hermione had wanted Draco in a way she had never truly wanted anyone else. Not Ronald, and certainly not Viktor.
Fucking, she thought. She remembered Draco's hands on her body. They had been soft, gentle.
Fucking, it had not been.
And entirely beside the point, because they had never even had sex.
Yet. Hermione's unhelpful subconscious offered. She pushed it away. "I am not," Hermione said finally.
"You are," Harry repeated, his green eyes hard.
Hermione stood straighter, crossing her arms against her chest. "Did you not just hear me, Harry Potter?" she asked. "A pair of Snatchers tried to rape me. I am not fucking anyone."
Harry visibly winced. "I didn't—" he began.
She didn't want to talk about that, especially now, and especially not with Harry. Instead, she interrupted him: "Everyone except you thought I was dead—why is that?" Hermione asked.
He swallowed and stared at her. "Nobody else ran—not far enough, anyways. They all waited just on the outskirts of the castle. You were too smart for that—I knew you ran."
Hermione could picture it: The chaos of Harry's death, how everyone but Neville Longbottom had run—and then: everyone running, but just to the outskirts of castle, waiting for—what? Harry was dead—Narcissa had announced it. What had they been waiting for? A second chance, perhaps? Or for death? A bunch of fools, either way. She stared back at him. "I ran," she confirmed.
Harry nodded. "I know. And that's why I knew you were still alive." He laughed. "They looked for you in Australia—I told them you weren't there."
She had changed. Draco had changed. Ron had changed. But Harry had changed as well—but, of course he had. He had been Dumbledore's tool from the age of eleven, he had been a force behind an entire war, he had been a Horcrux. And of course, he had died—technically.
Perhaps Harry had been the one that had changed the most. His attitude seemed—disillusioned, almost defeated.
They had looked for her in Australia, even though Harry knew she wasn't there. He had been the force behind an entire war, but now he appeared just to be a ghost of himself. Harry knew her better than anyone else, so why hadn't The Order listened to him?
Hermione stared at Harry—really stared at him.
Suddenly, he reminded Hermione of Draco: clearly beyond the point of exhaustion, stretched far thinner than any person should be, with worries far beyond his age propped solely up on his shoulders—a weight that should have been carried by a thousand men, but instead there was only Harry. There were purple bags beneath his eyes, and his shoulders were tense and held tightly to his body. Occasionally, the corner of his mouth would twitch.
This war was killing Harry as much as it was killing as Draco.
It had to end.
"We know the final Horcrux, Harry," she said quietly. "It's almost over."
"It was supposed to be over two years ago, Hermione," Harry replied sadly.
Well, perhaps if your spies had been used more effectively, Hermione thought, but ultimately did not say. "I was going to end this war if it was the last thing I did, Harry Potter," she said instead. "I vowed that to you."
"You were always a better friend than I ever deserved, Hermione Granger," Harry replied, with a derisive smile.
"Yes," she agreed.
"So, Malfoy's thinks it's the snake, then?" he asked.
Hermione nodded. "Yes," she replied. "We're almost certain—we just—we don't know how to kill her."
Harry sighed and rubbed distractedly at his brow. "It's we then?" he asked. "You and Malfoy?"
"It's we," Hermione replied quietly.
He laughed bitterly. "You're not fucking him. So, you love him, then?"
"I think so."
"Ron will be thrilled."
Truthfully, she didn't care what either Harry or Ron thought of her relationship with Draco. "I was alone for two years," Hermione said seriously. "I didn't know who was alive or dead—You were dead. And Ron—I lost him. I didn't know what happened to him. What? Was I just supposed to wait for him to find me and save me?" She laughed bitterly. "Was I just supposed to pine for Ron for the rest of my life?"
As soon as she said it, Hermione realized that was exactly what had she had been doing until Draco had stumbled upon her in the forest. Until Draco, she had been doomed to living her life for people she didn't know were dead or alive.
And that was no way to live.
Harry shook his head. "No," he replied. "Of course not. He just—You know how he is—"
"He always wants me when he can't have me," Hermione said seriously.
Harry laughed—a real laugh this time. "Precisely," he agreed. "How did it happen? You and Malfoy?"
Hermione tilted her head, giving him a thoughtful look. For a moment, she was staring at her best friend. "Do you actually want to know?" she asked.
The ice between them had just begun to thaw. Hermione wasn't certain that discussing her and Draco's relationship would permanently melt it. But for the first time in two years, it felt like she had her best friend back, and she wanted to tell him.
Harry shrugged. "Call me curious."
"It was an accident," Hermione said quietly. "He was tracking a unicorn—trying to brew Falsitiserum for the Order. He ran straight into my wards." Hermione laughed, remembering how her wards had sent Draco flying backwards onto his perfect arse. "I Stupefied him, tied him up on my floor, and interrogated him."
"And now you're in love?" Harry asked with a smirk that reminded her of Draco.
Hermione felt herself blush. She wasn't entirely ready to share her whole relationship with Draco just yet. "There was some stuff in between," she answered vaguely.
Harry nodded, and Hermione could tell that he understood. "He wants to fully switch sides?" he asked.
Hermione bit her lip and looked away from Harry. "I asked him—at first, he said no. And then—I asked him again. I think he thought about it—He said one more mission, and then hopefully. Ginny said one of the spies wanted to fully turn—I'm assuming—hoping—it's him."
Harry's eyes darkened at the mention of Ginny. Were they not together? Hermione had merely assumed. But perhaps that wasn't the case. "Are you and Ginny—?" she began.
He immediately interrupted her: "No," he said definitively.
Curious, Hermione thought. She reminded herself to ask Ginny about their relationship later.
"Why is he doing this?" Harry asked, suddenly changing subjects.
"He killed his family," Hermione said quietly. "He killed Lucius, and He killed Narcissa. He stole Draco's childhood."
"He stole my childhood, too."
Voldemort had, hadn't he? Harry's entire life had been about Voldemort—Of course, he was the force behind an entire war. How had she never made this connection before? Voldemort had stolen Draco's childhood but, of course, he had stolen Harry's, too.
"You've always had more in common than either of you would ever admit," Hermione said inadvertently.
Harry stared at her, studying her.
Hermione looked away. "He plays someone, sometimes. Malfoy is a mask," she explained. "He's not—He's not like that, really. He's not like that with me."
Harry's gaze softened after a moment. "You're in deep, aren't you?" he asked, giving her a sad smile.
"Yes," she agreed. The edges of the Galleon had begun to dig into her palm. She hadn't realized she'd been squeezing it so hard.
Harry's eyes finally left hers, and Hermione watched as he sunk into thought even as he appeared to be seriously studying the desk before him. "Use the Galleon tonight," he said after a moment. "Official Order business."
"Order business?" Hermione asked, confused.
Harry grinned at her. "Well, someone has to inform Malfoy that he has a new handler."
As soon as Hermione returned to her room, she pulled out the Galleon she had gotten from Shacklebolt and pressed the tip of her wand to its surface. Instantly, the words appeared on the face of the coin: Tonight. The usual place. The usual time.
She exhaled heavily. She would be seeing him again. Tonight.
Meetings with Draco were highly regulated according to Harry: They occurred typically once a month, always in the same alley in London, a Portkey to which sat wrapped in her pocket. It was not unheard of for The Order to call upon him earlier, but it was rare.
As Hermione sent her message through the Galleon, Hermione wondered what Draco would think when he received it. Would he think there was some sort of emergency, or would he think of her? She tried to picture him—his facial expression as he pulled the coin from his robes, the way his eyes would narrow as he read something fastidiously.
Hermione's thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at her door. "Come in," she said, still staring down at the Galleon even though she knew Draco could not answer her.
Ginny stepped into the room and gave her a small smile, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear.
Suddenly, Hermione realized the most drastic change that occurred in Ginny: she looked impossibly sad.
She had changed in numerous ways physically, but it was the sadness that was etched into every corner of her face that was the most extreme. When had Ginny become so sad? Why was Ginny so sad?
Hermione remembered Harry's face when she had asked about Ginny. Harry had looked sad, too.
"What happened between you and Harry?" Hermione blurted.
Clearly, she had been away from people for too long. She felt herself blush.
Ginny blinked at Hermione slowly: once, then twice. She flushed. "It's that obvious, then?" she asked.
"There seems to be some tension, yeah," Hermione said awkwardly.
"There is," Ginny replied, picking absently at her fingernails.
Hermione thought of Dumbledore, staring at his fingers as they began to rot, because he had tried to wear a Horcrux. She thought of Draco, staring on in horror.
"Why?" Hermione asked.
Ginny's eyes met hers unblinkingly. "I watched him die," Ginny replied in a dead voice. "And I've never been able to forgive him."
Hermione hadn't expected that level of honesty from Ginny, but she suspected Ginny hadn't expected Hermione's level of bluntness. Hermione herself hadn't expected it. "Oh," Hermione replied lamely.
Ginny chuckled darkly. "I've actually never said that out loud, to anyone."
"Then why me?" Hermione asked, seating herself on the edge of the bed.
Ginny crossed her arms and shrugged, looking away. "You're you," she replied. "You're Hermione—I haven't—I haven't liked not having Hermione. And, I guess, because then we both can have our secrets."
"Secrets?" Hermione repeated.
"Your spy," Ginny replied. "I can be angry at Harry for dying, and you can be in love with your spy."
"But, Ginny—" Hermione began, cutting herself off and swallowing, wanting to choose her words carefully. "Harry isn't dead."
Was she crazy? Was she hallucinating? Had Draco actually poisoned her with Snape's Falsitiserum?
"I know that," Ginny said quietly. "But I watched him die once—I watched him sacrifice himself once, and I know that he'd do it again without question." Ginny paused, swallowing. "When I look at him, sometimes I think I'm looking at a ghost."
Suddenly, Hermione understood. Hadn't she just had the same reaction earlier in the day? She had forgotten that Harry was alive, because she had watched him die.
Harry Potter: The Boy Who Had Lived.
The Boy Who Had Died.
Harry Potter: The Boy Who Was Still Alive.
Perhaps he was like a cat, and he had nine lives. But how many lives could he possibly have left?
"Oh, Ginny," Hermione said quietly, beckoning for her.
Ginny instantly sat down next to her, wrapping her arms around Hermione and burying her face in Hermione's shoulder. "Am I a terrible person?" she asked.
Hermione wrapped her own arms around Ginny. "No," she replied. "I don't think that makes you a terrible person at all."
"I love him," Ginny said.
Hermione had suspected as much. She also suspected that Harry loved Ginny back. "I know, Gin."
"So, I can love him, and you can love your spy."
Hermione bit back a bitter laugh. What had this war done to them?
"I promise I'll keep your secret, Gin. But I don't want—my spy—I don't want him to be a secret."
Ginny looked up at her. "Who?" she asked.
"It's Draco Malfoy," Hermione replied quietly.
Ginny narrowed her eyes, and Hermione instantly began to prepare a defense. "He's quite fit, isn't he?" Ginny asked, surprising her.
Hermione laughed, feeling the first burst of joy since she had seen Ginny's Patronus standing in Draco's living room. "He's bloody gorgeous, Gin," she replied.
"You seem—good. I wasn't sure what to expect when I was tasked with retrieving you. You seem—happier than I would be," Ginny said.
"The two last years seem like a blur, Gin. But I think I am—happy, that is."
"Good," Ginny replied. "You deserve it."
"I get to see him—tonight," Hermione said.
Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Really? That soon—we don't have much contact with our spies." Ginny rolled her eyes. "Makes no bloody sense, if you ask me."
Hermione laughed. "Right? Well, that's why I'm his new handler. Things clearly have to change around here," Hermione said determinedly.
"They do," Ginny agreed, standing and biting her lip. "I've known that for a while. But, well— maybe we just needed you to tell us, and to make it happen. You were always the one who made things happen."
"I'm going to do my best, Gin," Hermione promised. She had made a promise to Harry, and now she was making one to Ginny.
Suddenly, Ginny looked incredibly awkward. She averted her eyes, staring out the window above Hermione's bed. "Well, I just wanted to chat for a moment," she said. "You should get ready to meet your spy."
"Ginny—" Hermione began, feeling as awkward as Ginny looked.
Ginny met her eyes. "Yes?" she asked.
"Let's—do this again, soon. Chat, I mean."
Ginny bit her lip. "Okay," she agreed.
It was awkward—but, of course, it was. It had been two years. But Hermione felt as if she were making progress—her entire life had been completely upended in a matter of hours, after all.
After Ginny left, Hermione laid in her bed and stared at the ceiling, twirling the Galleon between her fingers. Eventually, the exhaustion of the day fully overtook her. She was awakened several hours later, the Galleon burning hot in her hand.
It was time.
Hermione's heart raced in her chest. In mere moments, she'd be seeing Draco again.
Hermione pulled the Portkey from her pocket and unwrapped it. As soon her fingers met metal, there was a twisting, wrenching sensation behind her navel, and she was transported from an undisclosed location in France to—an incredibly dirty alley in the heart of London.
The alley was empty aside from garbage and grime, and then Hermione saw him. He was leaning inelegantly against a brick wall dressed in Muggle clothing, a hoodie covering his pale blonde hair. He turned his head at the exact moment Hermione recognized him, and she watched as his grey eyes widened, then blackened as he promptly Occluded. As he moved away from the wall, he nearly tripped over his own feet.
Of course, he didn't know it was her. For two years, he'd been visited by one or two Order members, always masked by the face of another. For him, Hermione was just another mask.
"So early? What's the emergency?" Draco asked, his voice cold and his eyes dead.
Hermione took several more steps before reaching for him. "Draco," she said quietly.
His eyes flickered, the black fading to the grey she knew as his Occlusion dropped. "Is that really you?" he asked softly, even as he reached for her hands.
"It's me," Hermione replied, twining their fingers together.
Draco instantly pulled her into him, and there was another tugging sensation behind her navel as they were transported to the Forest of Dean. Hermione barely had a moment to orient herself before Draco had her face in his hands, staring down at her intensely. "What are you doing, you ridiculous, stubborn woman?" he asked, just before he kissed her.
Hermione kissed him back. When they broke apart, she smiled. "I'm your new handler," she replied.
His gaze darkened again. "No," he said shortly.
Hermione rolled her eyes. She should have expected as much. "Yes," she argued back.
"No," he repeated, quieter now, his eyes roaming her as if checking her for injury.
"I'm fine, Draco," she said, attempting to comfort him.
"Why are you here?" he asked seriously.
Hermione shook her head. "The Order is a mess, Draco. I had to do something."
"I knew that—and I know you—but you couldn't even wait a day, could you?" Draco asked, he smirked at her fondly as he stroked her cheek.
"I wanted to make sure I got back to you. You promised me, remember?"
"I remember," he replied. "But I think the promise I made was to get to you."
"Call me impatient," Hermione said, smiling.
"You reckless, impatient, beautiful woman," Draco said before kissing her hard.
"I don't really have any information for you," she said when they broke apart. "Mostly that I'm your new handler. Oh, and supposedly The Order has two other spies."
Draco narrowed his eyes. "Two other spies?" he asked. "I wonder if they treat them as poorly as they do me."
Hermione wondered as well. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest. Beneath his hoodie, Hermione could hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat. It calmed her. After a moment of listening to his heart, Hermione nodded. "I don't know who they are," she replied. Suddenly, Hermione remembered a rather critical piece of information: Harry. She pulled away from Draco to look up at him.
Draco was staring back down at her, his brow furrowed. He didn't know. Of course he didn't know. "What is it?" Draco asked.
"He's alive, Draco," Hermione said urgently. "Harry is alive."
Draco's expression froze as he continued to stare down at her. His eyes narrowed the longer he looked at her. "Are you sure it's him?" he asked quietly, his grip around her waist tightening, as if he was unwilling to let her go.
"It was Harry," she said fiercely. "I know it was him."
He studied her for a moment longer before nodding and gently stroking her cheek. "Just be careful, okay?" he said. "I don't want you getting hurt."
Hermione wasn't entirely sure what he meant by that, so she nodded. "I will," she replied.
"If you don't have any information for me, you should probably go," Draco said reluctantly.
"I probably should," she replied, even as she rested her head back against his chest, wanting to hear the comforting sound of his heartbeat again.
Draco also made no attempt to leave, burying his fingers in her curls as he held her head to his chest.
"Who else is there?" Draco asked instead.
"Harry, Ginny, Ronald, and Shacklebolt," she replied, sighing against him. "There's more, but that's all I've seen so far."
"You're okay?"
"I'm okay," Hermione replied.
Yes. She was okay now. She was with him—of course she was okay.
But that wasn't what he meant; she knew. Was she okay with The Order, was what he was asking. Truthfully, she didn't know if she was okay—and she didn't want to think about that right now. Not when she had precious few moments to spend with Draco.
"You should go," Draco repeated.
"Okay," she replied reluctantly, wrenching herself from his arms.
Draco was still staring at her, his eyes dark. Almost immediately, he pulled her back into his arms. "Come here," he said, just as his mouth descended on hers.
"I thought you said I should go," Hermione said breathlessly when they pulled away.
"You should," he repeated before kissing her again. "That doesn't mean I want you to—"
"Well, I don't want to either—
"Good, so don't—not yet—"
"I won't—I'll stay—"
"Stay," Draco said forcefully. "Stay tonight. I already let you go once today. I don't think I can do it again."
"I'll stay," she repeated.
"Good."
Over her shoulder, Hermione found Draco's cloak spread out beneath their usual tree. "Were you here?" she asked. "Before you came to meet me?"
He nodded "You know I hate that stupid flat," Draco replied quietly. "I just—I thought I could get some peace here. I was—I had planned to sleep here tonight."
In the sky, the sun was just beginning to set.
"Under the stars, like we did?" Hermione asked.
"Yes," he replied.
"Then we will," Hermione said with a smile.
"What about The Order?" Draco asked. "Won't they be worried about you?"
Truthfully, Hermione didn't care. They had been without her for two years—they would be fine for another few hours. "Let them worry," she breathed.
"Okay," Draco agreed, clearly not needing much convincing.
As Hermione watched, Draco pulled out a small bundle from the pocket of his Muggle denims which he promptly resized. She laughed as her favorite green silk comforter materialized, along with several other blankets and a pillow. "You came prepared, didn't you?" she asked, raising a brow.
"I really hate that stupid flat," he repeated, spreading several blankets out on the ground before topping them with the pillow and green silk comforter. He gave her a grin before promptly kicking off his sneakers, pulling his Muggle hoodie over his head, and sliding beneath the comforter.
Hermione didn't need an invitation, instantly kicking off her own shoes and sliding into the makeshift bed next to Draco. She instantly curled up next to Draco, burying her head against his chest, relishing once again in the sound of his heartbeat. She had been in the exact same position only hours later, but to Hermione it felt like so much longer. Had it truly only been a day? The sheer impossibility of everything that had happened that day made it seem as if their separation spanned weeks instead of mere hours.
She closed her eyes, enjoying the solid sensation of his chest beneath her.
They laid in comfortable silence for a long time. Their time was too short to spend it talking of matters of no consequence, and of matters beyond their control. They only had until in the morning. In the morning, Hermione swore she would leave him and return to The Order.
The sun had fully set now, and the birds had gone quiet in the forest. Draco's chest rose and fell rhythmically, and the ebb and flow had her nearly drifting off into sleep. She thought Draco was asleep until she felt him press a kiss to the top of her head, which in turn fully woke her. She turned to look up at him and found him staring down at her with hooded eyes.
You're fucking him, Harry had said.
No, she thought. She wasn't.
But she could. She was here, alone with him in a makeshift bed.
He was a spy, and she was his handler. In the morning, when she returned to The Order, he would also return to his life—the one which had deadly consequences at nearly every turn. What if—what if this was the last time? What if something happened to him, and she never got the chance to touch him? She wanted to touch him, but what if she never got the chance?
This line of thought led her directly to the conclusion that she should.
Hermione kissed him, and he kissed her back. Softly at first, but Hermione wanted more, and the intensity grew quickly, their lips and tongues frenzied against each other. Still, it wasn't enough. Hermione wanted more. She allowed herself to taste him the way she had always wanted but had never allowed herself to, leaving a trail of kisses from his lips, across his jaw, and then to his neck. She sucked gently at his skin and Draco groaned. "Hermione—" Draco began, beginning to gently push her away.
She pulled away from him breathlessly, staring down at him. At some point, she had disheveled his perfect hair.
Draco must have seen the desire in her eyes, because his arms instantly wrapped around her and pulled her back to him. "Come here," he breathed before kissing her again. His arms went from her waist and down to her hips, where his fingers gently squeezed. Almost immediately, Hermione found herself in his lap, straddling him. She could feel how hard he was beneath her. It excited her.
Hermione had felt him like this before, mostly in the mornings when he was curled around her, barely awake. But here, as she stared down at him, his eyes fixed on her, and he, very much awake, was an entirely different experience. Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest, so hard she could feel it low in her belly. And lower still—oh, she was uncomfortably aroused. She felt herself flush.
She pulled his shirt off, and when she was met with Draco's scars, she was not surprised at all. She ran her fingers over his abdomen, scars and all, taking the utmost care to be gentle. Below her fingertips, he shivered.
Draco's fingers found the hem of her shirt and their eyes met. This was when they had run into trouble the last time. He was watching her closely as his fingers grazed the skin of her belly, making no attempt to remove her shirt. The Snatchers ripping her shirt from her was her most uncomfortable, visceral memory, and Draco knew that. She subverted this by pulling off her shirt and tossing it away onto the forest floor. She gulped, and feeling impulsive, did the same with her bra.
She was now straddling him, pressed against him, completely shirtless.
Draco was staring intently at her breasts, his eyes wide and dark. Slowly, his fingers traveled back up to her waist and then to her breasts. Hermione gasped as his fingers grazed her nipples. Her skin was covered in goosebumps, and she couldn't tell if it was because of the chill of the night or Draco's touch.
His hands left her breasts and returned to her hips, and Hermione found herself on her back, Draco hovering over her. She could have thought of the Snatchers, but they were suddenly the furthest thing from her mind. It was Draco above her. Draco—scarred and shirtless, as he stared down at her, his grey eyes full of desire. Draco, who had promised that he'd never hurt her.
With the obstacle of Hermione's shirt removed, they quickly rid each other of the rest of their clothes. This had been Hermione's idea, but now as she laid naked beneath him, she suddenly felt apprehensive. It must have shown on her face, because Draco's expression became serious. "Hermione?" he asked, even as he began to pull away.
Hermione held him tightly. She wouldn't let him go a second time. She wanted this. She wanted him. "I'm scared," she said quietly.
Draco's eyes widened. "Hermione, I—" he began.
Hermione shook her head and closed her eyes. "No, not because of you," she interrupted. "I'm scared because I've never done this before."
a/n: Apologizes for the delay. This chapter morphed into some type of monster that I had not anticipated. Next update planned 6/2. Until then, thoughts are always appreciated!