Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Draco searched for the shortest queue but, as it was just after five, the Ministry of Magic Atrium was crowded with witches and wizards all vying for the same thing.

He waited patiently but when it was his turn, he impulsively called out Theo’s residence instead of his own. He felt entirely too downtrodden to be alone. Thankfully, Theo’s Floo was open to him, so he stepped through.

“Theo!” He called, already walking toward his favorite of the two identical sofas that flanked the fireplace.

Theo had the Galleons to move out of his ancestral manor, as Draco had, but instead had chosen to overhaul it. With his father in Azkaban, he’d gone from heir to head of the family and with that came complete control of their property and the contents therein.

Draco had expected an all-out purge of the interior when Theo had expressed his plans to stay, but Theo had taken another tact, instead repurposing his father’s favorite items for unsavory means. For instance, the loo roll in the main floor bathroom was now presented on a rather godawful Jacobean side table that Draco knew had once lived beside Nott Senior’s favorite armchair. The joke was not lost on him.

“Am I forgetting that we had plans?” Theo’s voice preceded him but a moment later the man appeared, rubbing a towel over his damp hair.

“Are you busy?” Draco asked, not getting up.

Theo took in his likely haggard appearance and raised his brows. “Gin or whisky?”

Theo was such a good friend.

“Gin. Thanks.”

Theo tossed his towel over the back of a chair and padded to the sideboard, feet bare but mercifully otherwise clothed. He wasn’t dressed to leave so, content that he wasn’t about to be thrown out after the drink, Draco leaned back and tried to formulate his thoughts.

What was it exactly that he’d scampered here for? Her face filled his mind.

Right.

He had become worryingly infatuated with his coworker. His coworker who barely spared him the time of day, and when she did it was so excruciatingly polite as to curdle his blood with residual shame.

His coworker who he’d treated abominably for years.

His coworker who was a source of pure light in Draco’s long-dark existence.

His coworker who was none other than Hermione fucking Granger.

Faced once again with the unfeasibility, nay the futility, of his attraction, he leaned forward to brace his elbows on his thighs and sank his face into his hands. 

“It’s impossible.” He said and let out the pitiful groan he’d been holding since the lifts when he’d awkwardly tried to hold the gate open for her and she’d completely ignored him.

Something cold and slightly wet bumped his hand and he recoiled, only to relax when he saw it was a glass of gin, condensate already forming from the ice clinking within.

“This feels vaguely familiar,” Theo said dryly, gesturing with his own glass at Draco’s general person. “Planning another murder?”

Draco downed the icy liquid, grimacing at the slide of it down his throat and into his chest. “You’re a terrible friend,” he grit out when he had a breath in him. “Fucking hell, Theo.”

Theo took the empty glass from him and handed Draco his own full tumbler, then went back to the sideboard for a refill. He settled on the sofa across from Draco and rested a foot on his opposite knee.

“Go on then,” he said, taking a sip from Draco’s former glass. “What’s impossible? Tell me and I’ll see how I can help.”

Draco doubted the validity of that but, well, he had come to Theo for advice so he was really just wasting his own time if he didn’t at least try and get it. The gin had turned warm as it sank into him, burrowing into his gut and working to tease apart the knot of tension within. He took another bracing swig to further the sensation, then set it on his thigh.

“I want to take Granger on a date.” He paused, assessing how it felt to hear the words out loud. It felt…like the epitome of an unattainable goal. He clenched his jaw. “But it’s impossible.”

To his credit, Theo managed only a mild reaction at this unlikely confession. He took measured sip of his drink, observing Draco over the rim. “Right. Well, what did she say when you asked her?”

Draco gave him a flat look which he hoped communicated the sheer number of miles away he was from attempting that.

Theo hummed in understanding. “Okay, so what have you tried then?”

Draco fidgeted with his glass, moving it slightly so it didn’t leave a dark wet ring on his grey trousers. “I brought her a cup of tea once. And…and I’ve held the door for her.” And the lift gate, he added sullenly to himself, but didn’t think it counted if she hadn’t acknowledged him doing it.

Theo waited, but Draco was done. His friend’s eyebrows raised as the silence extended.

“I’m beginning to see why you think it’s impossible,” he deadpanned. “You know that women aren’t actually mind readers, don’t you?”

Draco thought instantly of his mother, then of Daphne and Pansy, and thought to argue but he knew logically that Theo was right.

“I know,” he grumbled. “But I don’t know what to do. Frankly, she scares the life out of me.”

Theo snorted. “I’d bloody think so. She’s scary.” His mouth twitched. “In a really nice, thoughtful, helpful, considerate sort of way.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “What.”

Theo fixed him with an expression of utmost innocence. “What? I’ve only had the pleasure of one interaction with her and I completely agree with you. She’s terrifying. Absolutely unapproachable. So, so mean.”

Draco exhaled heavily. “You’re no help.”

Theo allowed himself a quick cheeky grin and then sobered his expression. “I’m sorry. I do want to help. Believe it or not, but I’m actually not all that surprised you fancy her. You two are very similar.”

“Yeah?” The residual shards of ice clinked invitingly as he swirled his glass. “Glad to hear I terrify you.”

Theo laughed. “You wish. No, I meant the other parts. And also you’re both weirdly intelligent. Like, annoyingly so.”

Draco scoffed to hide how genuinely touched he was by this assessment. “If you’re about to tell me to approach her how I’d want her to approach me then come up with your next piece of advice because I don’t think she’d appreciate me throwing her onto her desk and snogging her.”

“She might.” Theo raised his hand in a gesture of peace at the scathing look Draco leveled at him. “Fine, fine. Assuming she doesn’t want to be instantly ravished by you, then let’s see…”

A thoughtful expression draped itself across his face and he held a single finger up in a wait right there gesture. He left the room and was gone for several minutes, during which Draco downed the rest of his second gin and eyed the remnants of Theo’s before remembering the bottle was only feet away on the sideboard. He’d almost decided to get up and get it, so melancholic was he, when Theo returned.

He dropped a book on Draco’s lap, rather closer to his precious bits than Draco appreciated. “Oi! Mind it!”

Theo took up his seat, entirely unapologetic. “Read that.”

Draco looked at the book. Then back up at Theo. “What the fuck is this?”

“I sort of don’t want to tell you because you’re a judgmental prick.”

Draco tried to seem offended but Theo didn’t fall for it. He sighed. “I’ll do my best to restrain myself. Tell me.”

Theo scrunched a hand through his drying curls. “Luna gave it to me.”

“Oh.” During his school years, Draco would have reacted rather insensitively to that remark but now that he knew better — both about how to be a person and about Lovegood’s strength in the face of her enemies — he simply pursed his lips and nodded. “Why?”

Theo observed his muted reaction with mild surprise, then smiled. “She said it could help me learn to love myself. Which, really, it did help with. But it’s also about picking up on the ways that others receive love. So read it. Maybe it’ll give you an idea of how Granger would best be approached. It’s an uncommon book, too, so you could always just show it to her if you’re desperate for an ice-breaker.”

Draco flicked through it briefly then rested it safely on his knee. If he could gain even a scrap of insight into her mind, he’d take it.

And frankly, what better place to learn about Granger than in a book?

—— Acts of Service ——

By the following morning, Draco had read the entirety of the book and taken a full two pages of notes. He arrived at work with the semblance of a plan.

He would enact a single language of love each day and carefully observe Granger’s reactions to isolate her preferred method, which he would then target to the best of his ability. Unfortunately there were five love languages and only four days left in the week, given that it was a Tuesday, but he stuck to his plan nonetheless. The thought of waiting a full six days to begin on a Monday was absolutely unbearable and Draco was half sure he’d chicken out if he thought too long about it.

He’d organized the love languages into an order he felt would be the most natural which meant today’s was acts of service. He’d initially balked at the chapter header when he’d opened to it but upon reading, was quickly reassured. He was certain this wasn’t his preferred way of giving or receiving love but he could see how it might be Granger’s.

He was a few minutes early to his desk in the Department of International Cooperation where he worked in the International Magical Office of Law. His desk was situated almost exactly across from Granger’s in the four-person office they shared.

Of their other two officemates, only one consistently sat at his desk and even then it wasn’t daily. Their work often took them abroad to the countries that they specialized in. The final piece of their quartet practically lived in the liminal space of portkey travel, trekking so frequently to manage her cases across Asia that in the one interaction Draco could actually recall having with her, she joked about just buying a home there.

So while he didn’t expect to see Liu, he was surprised to find neither Granger nor Adams currently present either. He checked his watch — he wasn’t that early. But it suited his plans perfectly, so he didn’t dawdle further.

With a confidence he didn’t completely feel, he strode forward to Granger’s desk and placed a file carefully atop her blotter.

He’d seen her struggling the day before over the French translations for a case she’d been handed last minute, so had taken it upon himself to do the work for her.

His father had ensured his bilingualism, touting it as both a homage to their roots and also an important asset as a man of influence. Draco had begrudged the lessons during his youth but now found he almost wanted to visit his father in Azkaban to give him a proper thanks. Almost.

It had been easy enough to nab the file the night before. Blood thick with gin after Theo’s (and another at his own home to prepare himself for a self-help book), he’d thrown caution to the wind and nipped back to work for it, knowing she’d left it in the office.

He observed it a final time, adjusted an edge, then stepped back to take his seat before she caught him standing over her desk like a specter. He cracked open his own case from Denmark and got to work.

Granger arrived two minutes late, something he thought the version he knew from school would’ve been all in a tizzy over but which this Granger did with regularity. Gone were the days of the brown-nosing rule-abiding, intolerable little swot he thought he’d known. The woman taking her seat across from him was another creature entirely.

Someone self-assured and unapologetically cunning as well as clever.

Someone brave and funny and gorgeous and witty and truly, terrifyingly intelligent.

She was an enigma.

He wanted to know everything about her.

He kept his eyes on his work but still caught the moment she noticed the file on her worktop. She hummed a curious, confused little noise, eyes darting to the cabinet in the corner that they used to store their cases, by country or region first and then chronologically. Eyes back on the file, she flipped it open, conceivably to determine where to refile it, but paused when she saw his additions.

He could only assume her motionlessness meant she was reading through his work, the thought alone sending a fissure of nerves up his spine, coiling hotly at the base of his skull. She glanced up at him a moment later and he was glad his eyes hadn’t strayed from his work.

“What’s this?” She asked him, voice mild.

He fought his impulse to hide behind his papers. “I had a bit of time last night so I thought I’d give you a hand with that.”

She processed his response unblinkingly, then broke her stare to look back down at the file in her hands. “Oh. Well, thank you. This helps quite a bit.”

“You’re welcome.” He tried to breathe some life into his awkward, stilted response. “Any time.”

She observed him again, a question behind her eyes, but whatever it was she thought twice about expressing it. With a quiet hum, she pulled out the rest of the pages from the file and got to work.

Draco filed her response away for later dismantling and tried to do the same.

—— Words of Affirmation ——

Wednesday morning dawned sunny and bright. Draco took it as a good omen.

He made it all the way to lunch without seeing Granger which, on a normal day, would’ve been both a relief and an exercise in yearning but today relaxed him.

He wanted to give Granger a genuine affirmation to fulfill the love language of the day, and mornings for them were often quiet and focused or when they were required to be present at a hearing or other external event, so interactions between the two of them would be forced. He wanted it to feel as authentic as possible so that it didn’t raise undue suspicion and thereby muddy her reaction.

In the end, he didn’t need to manufacture a scenario to enact his words of affirmation for her. The afternoon had brought with it two new cases for their office. Adams, on his way to Turkey the following day, declined taking either on so they fell to Draco and Granger who were both more free.

Draco, his desk the default first in the room given how the door opened to it, had received both files from their manager and now perused the contents. He was diverted enough by reading that when he spoke, the words came out without conscious thought.

“Oh, this one is for a law they’re trying to establish toward the protection of centaurs in a forest in Belgium. You should take it, Granger. You know the most about magical creature law and protections. I think you’d be a real asset to them.”

He stood, nose still in the documents, and walked around his desk toward hers. He didn’t look up until he was in front of her, skimming through the preliminary drafting they’d done before seeking external collaboration from their department.

When he finally looked up, she was looking at him with a mildly perplexed expression, her cheeks almost the faintest brush of pink. The sight knocked loose a cog in his brain but he quickly ambled on without it, closing the file and holding it out to her.

“Okay,” she said, taking it from him, her brows dipping down towards quizzical. “Thanks.”

He nodded and retreated back to his chair. She’d certainly reacted that time to him, but had it been the compliment about her expertise or simply surprise that he was being complimentary to her at all?

He brooded for a moment and then took a covert glance up at her. Fuck. She was still looking at him.

Her expression drifted hair-raisingly from curious to calculating.

He quickly looked back down.

—— Receiving Gifts ——

Thursday was the day for gifts. Draco had deliberated quite extensively on how to play it. He could buy her practically anything in the world but had a sense that she wasn’t especially materialistic. And besides, it was perhaps overly forward to gift her diamonds.

He’d eventually settled on a new quill, having noticed the day before that hers was rather run-down. He’d splurged a bit, as far as one could with a writing utensil, but all in all felt good about his choice.

He intentionally arrived five minutes early in order to deliver it covertly to her desk, but he’d only barely taken his seat when Granger arrived, shooting him a quick nod of acknowledgement before she turned to hang her cloak.

He busied himself with a case file, not reading a thing, as she approached her desk.

He could practically feel her notice the box, the air tightening as her body stopped just behind her chair. She was quiet a moment and then he felt her attention on him.

He pretended not to notice.

“So…you’ve reached the receiving gifts chapter then?” She inquired lightly.

He froze in the act of picking up a page. “What?”

Fuck. It had come out sounding whatever the opposite of nonchalant was.

She gestured to the box on her desk, her other hand on her hip. When he chanced a glance up to her face he saw that her expression was…amused?

“This is from you, is it not?”

He couldn’t come up with a way to believably deny it, so he deflected. “What do you mean receiving gifts chapter?”

Yes, that was definitely amusement flickering across her expression. “I don’t know if you know this, Malfoy, but I’m quite a prolific reader.”

His stomach dropped. No. No. There was no way she’d read the same book. He played to his strengths.

“Oh really,” he said dryly, smirking. “I hadn’t heard.”

She snorted. “Cute.”

He did his best not to take the word to heart, sarcastic tone she’d delivered it with and all.

She rounded her desk to lean against the front of it, facing him and crossing her arms. “You’ve been acting strangely all week. This has just confirmed a theory that, frankly, I didn’t even dare to entertain.”

He left that last part alone for now and accepted the reality of the matter. By some unfair twist of fate, she’d read the same self-help book.

“But…Theo said it was an uncommon book,” he insisted, dejected.

“Perhaps here,” she said agreeably. “But it’s practically a best seller in the Muggle world.” She paused, lifting a hand to examine her nails rather theatrically. “I don’t know if you know, Malfoy, but I’m a Mugglebor—”

“Alright, alright.” He fought a flush, made more difficult when she flicked her eyes up to his, grinning victoriously.

She enjoyed his discomfiture for a moment, and then dropped her hand to lay her palm flat on her desk behind her. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

He shuffled papers, not looking at her, coward that he was, as he muttered, “You know you are.”

“Hmm. Will you say it?”

He glanced up at her, wary. “Say what?”

“Tell me I was right.” She was biting the inside of her cheek in restrained amusement but there was something else behind her eyes.

His hesitated, suspicious. “Why?”

“I find I’d quite like to hear you say it.” She tilted her head. “I know you’ve already done words of affirmation on me but consider this another point in that box.”

He inhaled slowly, steeling himself and glad they were alone in the office. “Fine. You’re right.”

She didn’t blink. “Say it all.”

He carded a hand through his hair. This fucking witch. Why was he trying to date her again? He met her eyes, his frustration fueling his confidence, and instantly remembered all the reasons. He leaned back in his chair, hands flat on his desk.

“You were right that I’m reading a Muggle book about the language of love—“

“Love Languages,” she corrected.

“—Love Languages,” he repeated. “In order to…” He clenched his jaw and she raised an eyebrow, expectant. “In order to take you on a date.”

She had the audacity to look surprised. “Oh!”

He tried not to back down though his heart wanted to shrivel up into nothingness at her reaction. “Is the thought I’d want to date you really that shocking to you?”

“Historically, yes,” she said bluntly, but carried on before he could begin to completely rehash all the reasons to hate his childhood self. “Frankly, I just assumed it was all for sex.”

Now it was his turn to raise his brows in surprise. “Oh.”

When no further words came — his mind hyperfixated on the realization she’d let him continue his activity for three days without comment, thinking it was leading to sex — she began to nod slowly, like it was starting to make sense. Then she looked curious again.

“What was your plan for physical touch, then?” She asked. “If this wasn’t all going to culminate in sex?”

He debated which truth to share: that he had hoped it would all culminate in sex or that he wanted so much more from her than just that. He went with the simplest answer.

“Er, I didn’t have it fully formed yet,” he admitted, swallowing. “But I was thinking of a touch to your hand or—“ his pale complexion betrayed him again with the warmth he felt across his cheeks, “—maybe brushing your hair off your neck.”

She rubbed her lips together, then cleared her throat and straightened to walk back around her desk. He forced himself to not slump under her dismissal, watching her settle into her chair.

“Well.” Her voice had a tension to it that it hadn’t before. “I think that sounds quite nice, actually. Why don’t you start with your plan and then perhaps it can evolve into mine?”

He almost didn’t dare ask. “What’s your plan?”

Her lips quirked to the side, almost a smirk but playful. “I suppose you’ll find out.”

She was terrifying.

Fuck. He was so into her.

—— Physical Touch ——

He’d intended for Friday to be dedicated to quality time, the mechanics of which he’d yet to fully devise beyond the default close quarters they’d keep, sitting a mere fifteen feet from one another as they always did. However, he had a sense that their shared work time was more quantity and less the quality the book recommended.

So, he’d tabled it for now and instead shifted gears to try touch instead. She’d all but invited him to do so the day before and the thought of doing it, and her being receptive to it, was all he’d been able to think about for the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening. He’d had to show himself a little self-love (also in the form of physical touch) when his thoughts about it had become quite more than could withstand.

The opportunity to initiate his first touch arose during their all-hands department meeting just before lunch.

He’d walked with Adams and Granger to the conference room and managed to snag a seat at the table just to her left. He’d even pushed her chair in for her when she went to scoot it in herself, the gesture feeling suave.

She’d smiled her thanks and he’d offered her a small one in return, his traitorous heart flapping wildly in his chest. He schooled himself. This was in his control.

It was during a recitation of laws that had been passed the week prior due to the aid of their department that he found his moment. He went to jot down a note only to realize that his ink was dry. He hadn’t brought another so made to lay down his quill and just listen intently when he saw that Granger had a full pot on the other side of her, right-handed as she was.

Well, he was nothing if not an opportunist.

He reached out to lightly touch her left hand where it rested on the table to get her attention. Her quill slid sideways in an impressively dark line as she jolted, wide eyes cutting to him.

“Can I borrow some ink?” He whispered, not sure what to make of her reaction.

She blinked, then nodded and moved it between them so he could use it too.

“Thanks,” he murmured. He wanted to touch her again to see what her response would be a second time but couldn’t think of a subtle way to do it in front of their entire department, so held off for now.

By the time the meeting ended, he’d formulated his plan of action. As soon as their boss dismissed them, he began.

“Here,” he said, sliding her ink back towards her. “Thanks again.” He punctuated the sentiment by laying his hand briefly over hers again, just long enough to add a little pressure and stroke his thumb once across her knuckles.

She inhaled through her nose, eyes flicking from her notes to his hand, and then sideways to him. The corner of her mouth near him curled up into a little smile.

“Anytime.” Her attention lingered on him for another second, the weight of it filling him with so much raw hope that his chest ached.

But then she broke the moment, reanimating to briskly pack up her notes and stopper her ink pot. He stood and waited for her so they could walk back to their office together. She noted it with a glance over her shoulder, joining him on her feet and gesturing him forward.

“Oh no,” he replied, “Ladies first. After you, Granger.”

She snorted but obliged him.

Now that he was sure she was receptive to his touch, he proceeded with further confidence. It actually felt quite natural when he laid his hand gently on her lower back to guide her around the mail cart, and when his hand collided with hers in his attempt to get their office door for her, he was sure of it. He felt entirely all too comfortable being close to her.

He hadn’t taken the time to determine his own love language, but he had a sense that physical touch was up there for him.

“This is feeling more like acts of service,” she teased him when he trailed her to her desk, intending to pull her chair out again.

“It can’t be two at once?” He rebutted, staying the course and standing behind her chair, hands on the backrest.

She leaned her hip against her desk, inspecting him. “Hmm. I suppose that’s true. Quality time and words of affirmation work rather nicely together, and when you add in physical touch, well…they all make the other better, don’t they?”

Despite his initial block when it came with trying to alert Granger to his intentions, Draco rather prided himself on his prowess in the bedroom. He’d had an early introduction to it at the hands of Pansy and then later Daphne, a bit of a drought from sixteen to eighteen for obvious reasons, and then had eased himself back into it shortly thereafter.

He liked knowing things, both for the interest of it but also to use them against others (the hat hadn’t even touched him before proclaiming him a Slytherin after all). It was easy enough to find a willing participant when he had a want for one, but ever since he’d noticed (and then acknowledged and then accepted) his infatuation with Granger, he hadn’t had eyes for anyone else.

Which was a bit of a shame, since he’d been propositioned a handful of times in the convening weeks by rather pretty witches. Usually at the pub after work, where the implication of what they wanted with him was quite obvious, but one time while he’d been waiting for his takeaway cup of tea at a cafe. The broad daylight come-on had been rather flattering and he’d genuinely considered the charming lady for a moment, unsure as he was with his chances with Granger, but ultimately had sent her on her way with a polite decline.

Suffice it to say: yes, he knew quite well how words and touches could make quality time all the better.

He pulled out her chair in lieu of a verbal reply, gesturing her down into it with a tilt of his head.

She resisted for another moment, chewing her lip. He saw when her curiosity won out and she sidled forward, sitting and letting him push her in.

Task completed, he slid his hands down the sides of the backrest, fingers just barely brushing against the sleeves of her blouse, then drew them away. From his vantage point above her, he was able to see the faint goosebumps that raised up along the strip of skin above her blouse and up the delicate length of her neck.

She’d wound her hair into a knot and secured it with her wand during the meeting, an act that he’d practically salivated over as it had sent a fresh waft of her towards him while simultaneously exposing the soft skin of her neck to his hungry eyes. He surveyed that skin more openly now, watching the goosebumps raise the soft hairs along it.

He enacted the final part of his action plan, reaching for the stray curl that had made its daring escape halfway through the meeting. He’d intended to simply tuck it back up for her but once he got his fingers around it, the unexpected softness of the strands diverted his hand. He coiled the curl around his finger unthinkingly, humming a soft sound of pleasure at the discovery of its silken texture.

She stiffened at the sound, which he marked with interest, but didn’t pull away from him.

He carried on as planned, tucking the curl behind her ear and letting his fingers graze the skin just behind it as he drew his hand away. “There you go,” he murmured to her. “All tidy now.”

Her hand flexed and her next breath was rather tremulous.

Delighted, he stepped back and strode casually over to his desk as if he hadn’t just been moments away from throwing it all to the wind and pulling her onto her desk. When he dared a glance up while surreptitiously rearranging the open files before him, she was watching him.

He channeled the cockiness of his youth, though with a softer edge. “Well?”

“Well what?” Her voice had the same tension he’d heard in it before.

“I did my plan. How did you find it?” He put down his papers and leaned a bit of weight on his forearms, interlacing his fingers. The picture of attentiveness.

“Just as nice as I thought it would be,” she replied, then smirked and leaned forward to mimic his posture. “Ready for my plan?”

Salazar below, he absolutely wasn’t.

He feigned indifference. “Sure.”

Her eyes sparkled, letting him know he’d missed the mark. “Come back to mine and I’ll show you.”

It was a tempting offer. Perhaps the best he would ever receive in his entire life. But he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea. He’d read a bloody self-help book about love, for Merlin’s sake.

“Could I take you to dinner first?” He asked. “While I’m wholeheartedly onboard with you doing absolutely whatever you want to me afterward, I do genuinely…well, like you. So I’d like to do this properly.”

She looked slightly taken aback that he was negotiating her offer but the expression faded quickly into one of quiet pleasure.

“Okay, Malfoy. You can take me out first. Far be it from me to get in the way of your exploration into quality time.”

He laughed. “Cheers, Granger. How’s tomorrow night?”

She inclined her head. “I’m free.”

“Excellent. Shall I pick you up? Seven o’clock?”

“I’ll meet you there. Owl me the details?”  

“Certainly.”

They stared at one another across the space between their desks. There was nothing else to say but he found he couldn’t look away.

She’d agreed to a date with him.

She’d agreed to a date with him.

He tried not to be overeager but he could feel his pulse thrumming close to the surface, his thighs reflexively tightening, urging him up and to her.

Her eyes were amused, heated, as she watched him.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, nostrils flaring. She smirked, a wicked little thing that told him she knew exactly what he wanted to do. Daring him to.

She unlaced her fingers and swept her hands slowly along the surface of her desk, fingers caressing the leather blotter and then pressing down into the wood on either side, exactly how he imagined she might if he bent her over it and…

He barely stifled his groan.

With a little snort of victorious amusement, she broke their eye contact and settled into her chair as if she hadn’t just decimated him. She pulled a file over and readied her ink pot.

She was using the quill he’d bought her.

—— Quality Time ——

As requested, Draco made a reservation and then owled Granger the details. He’d picked the restaurant for the ambiance and food, not the price sticker, which he hoped would win him some points with her.

Plans set, he devoted the remainder of the evening and quite a bit of the next day to not panicking.

The heat between them the day before had solidified for him the suspicion he’d held about her: She liked a challenge, and wouldn’t be permissive in the bedroom. The thought had heated his blood, his cock thickening behind the shelter of his desk and refusing to abate until Adams had finally rejoined them and the tension in the room had dropped.

But the promise of excellent sex aside, Draco was uncharacteristically nervous about the date. He’d dated before, obviously, but never anyone he was already obsessed with.

Had he said obsessed? Fuck.

The prospect of her hating his company so much that she put in for a reassignment at work to be rid of his presence was likely a bit dramatic but certainly not impossible. He tried to comfort himself that the fact she was even deigning to be seen in public with him was a good sign that she was confident enough in their ability to get along outside of the office.

But, Merlin and Morgana, the stakes had never been higher for him.

He’d considered Flooing to Theo’s to be made fun of in a way that would alleviate his tension but worried Theo would provide him with last minute advice that would send him into a fresh spiral of planning and over-analyzing.

So instead, he selected his clothing, showered (including a quick wank just to take the edge off if things really went in his favor later), then styled himself, poured two-fingers of whisky, and spread out the documents for a case he’d brought home.

His work-based distraction worked slightly too well, however, because all of a sudden it was five to seven.

“Shit.” Draco shuffled the papers back together, hastily downing the dregs of his whisky and then instantly grimacing, regretting the compulsion. Still, the warmth of it was soothing and would probably help settle his nerves.

With one minute to spare, he Disapparated to the restaurant. He’d materialized down the road at the nearest Apparation point so legged it to his selected establishment. To his chagrin, he saw Granger had already arrived and was waiting for him in the vestibule.

“Sorry,” he panted. “Got caught up with work. Have you been here long?”

She took in his appearance with a slow sweep of her eyes, ending the perusal on his hair and then dropping the few inches down to meet his gaze. She smiled.

“Not long at all. You look nice. That color shirt really brings out the blue in your eyes, which makes them even more striking.”

He blinked, wholly unprepared for a compliment from her. “Uhh…”

She laughed at his dumbstruck response. “Not a words of affirmation man, then?”

His brain restarted. “Actually I think I might be…try another? Just to make sure?” He smirked at her.

She shoved his shoulder playfully. “Mmhmm. Maybe later. Now, check us in?”

“Right.” He approached the maître d’ and gave his name. The witch summoned a hostess and soon they were seated, menus obtained and waters poured.

“Have you been here before?” She asked, opening her menu.

“Theo and I come here sometimes, yeah.” He wanted to be specific about his prior tablemates lest she think this was his usual date haunt. She was truthfully the first woman he’d brought here.

She hummed. “Speaking of Theodore, earlier this week you implied he’d been the one to recommend the Love Languages book to you?”

He pretended to be dense to avoid the real thing she was asking. “I did.”

She shot him a knowing look. He considered holding out but, really, what was the use? She’d get it out of him soon enough.

“He recommended it to me because I went to him for advice.”

“Advice about love?” Her tone has shifted from teasing to genuine interest now that she didn’t have to squeeze the answer from him.

“Not specifically but not not specifically.” He toyed with the stem of his empty wine glass.

“Evasive as ever,” she mused, eyes on his twirling fingers. “And where did dear Theo learn of this book? I wasn’t aware he expanded his reach to the Muggle sphere.”

“Apparently he was recommended it by Luna,” Draco shared, and then wondered if he shouldn’t have. Had that been a divulgence just for him?

But Granger didn’t seem surprised by it. “Oh, that makes sense.” And then she laughed.

He smiled at her, the reaction reflexive and uncontrollable, her amusement contagious. “What’s funny?”

She collected herself with another sip of water. “Well, just that I lent the book to Luna to begin with.” Her eyes sparkled at him over the rim of her glass.

He laughed as well, privately marveling at the ever-twisting currents of fate for them to have—

He paused, water glass halfway to his mouth.

Wait.

Had Theo known who’d given the book to Luna? Had he passed it along to him on purpose?

With sudden clarity, Draco remembered his friend had specifically told him to show it to Granger to ‘break the ice’.

Why, that conniving little Slytherin.

“What just occurred to you?” Granger asked. “Your face went from surprised to this weird mix of vindictive and amused.”

“I’m trying to decide if Theo is the worst friend I’ve ever had…or the best.” He snorted a soft laugh through his nose, finally taking a drink.

He didn’t really need to think that hard about it, of course. The answer was blatant: the best. Whether intentionally or not, Theo’d had a non-zero influence on the fact that Granger was sitting across the table from him, wearing a rather pretty dress and a rather kissable smile.

Merlin, he didn’t want to mess this up. He just needed to make it through dinner and then the Quaffle would be under her arm, so to speak, and he could relax. He had a sense it would be her turn to orchestrate things once they crossed over her threshold, assuming she still invited him back to hers after dinner.

They paused their conversation to order, her the chicken and him the fish, with a bottle of white for the table.

“So,” she sipped her water once the waiter had departed. “You said you were working? I didn’t realize you were so devoted.”

He snorted. “It’s not the typical way I spend my weekend, don’t worry.”

“Who said I was worried? For all you know, that’s exactly what I did as well.”

“Was it?”

She smiled. “No.”

He laughed. “So what did you do all day?” He asked, grateful for the opening she’d provided him.

“A few mundane necessities: laundry, recasting a few of my household charms, that sort of thing. And then I showered…and put on this dress…and came to dinner.” She said the last a little slower, leaving space for him to picture each event and imagine the unspoken.

She’d showered (naked).

She’d put on her dress (and whatever was underneath).

She’d come to dinner (with him).

The waiter chose that moment to return with the wine, opening the bottle and pouring them each a glass. It wasn’t a nice enough restaurant for him to have been offered a small tasting first but even if it had been, he’d have swallowed the mouthful without savoring, just to get her alone again. He did offer a polite thanks when the waiter set the bottle of wine within his reach; he wasn’t a complete boor.

But the interruption had reset Granger’s sultry gaze back into her usual, pleasant one. She tasted the wine, catching a wayward drip from the lip of the stemware with a dainty flick of her tongue in a move so automatic as to be entirely genuine and not just to rile him up.

“Did you work all day, then?” She asked.

He dragged his eyes from her mouth. “No. No, my day was much the same actually.” There was a line between total honesty and completely turning her off him by divulging that he’d spent the day overthinking his entire existence and wanking.

“Oh? I didn’t realize reupping domestic charms fell under the responsibilities of heir?”

He fixed her with a wry expression. “Very funny. And I’m actually head of house, I’ll have you know.”

She looked momentarily aghast at her foible but, really, if anyone should’ve been pleased about his father’s indefinite incarceration, it should’ve been her.

He waved a hand to dispel her concern. “No, I actually don't live at the manor. Or in any prior-owned Malfoy property. I have a flat in the North End.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Really? What made you move out?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, trying to discern if she was joking. “Are you serious?” He asked, when he couldn’t tell.

She sipped her wine. “Yes. I’d have thought you’d been waiting your whole life to be Lord of the manor.”

He hummed contemplatively, sliding his thumb and forefinger along the stem of his own glass and angling his face down to watch. “Maybe once. But not since I was sixteen.”

“Ah.” She paused. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to…bring that up.”

That. A single word to encapsulate nine months of pure, numbing terror. But he supposed he wasn’t alone in that.

He met her eye, face still turned down toward his gliding fingers. “I think you’ve well earned the right to bring up whatever you want.”

She gave him a small smile for that, fleeting but true. “Maybe. But I won’t. Not intentionally. Not tonight.”

He nodded, eyes drifting back to his hand though his attention stayed fixed on her. She shifted in her seat. 

“So what made you choose the North End?” She asked, drawing his gaze back.

“It felt close enough to civilization without being right on top of it,” he replied. “It’s more residential and there are a few large parks and natural areas.”

She nodded. “I know. I actually grew up there.”

That surprised him. “You did?”

“Mmhmm. My parent’s house is just a few blocks away from Hampstead Heath. I used to go there when I wanted a bit of nature, inasmuch as I could find it in London.”

While the book may have been a faux-coincidence wrought by Theo’s subtle manipulation, surely his choosing to relocate to the same few square miles as she’d lived was an genuine example of fate.

He’d been walking in the steps of a Muggleborn and hadn’t realized. How’s that for proving how misconstrued his young belief system had been?

“I run there almost every day,” he told her.

“I still go back on the weekend sometimes and do the same.”

“Next time you’re around, we could go together.”

Perhaps it was presumptuous to angle for a second date before the even completing the first, but her smile blossomed. “I’d like that.”

Their food arrived a moment later but it didn’t impede their conversation. Granger was downright delightful company and he felt he was pulling his own rather well, judging by the way he’d made her laugh and pause thoughtfully and scoff in mock-outrage.

He paid the bill — he’d insisted as the asker, assuring her with a roll of his eyes she could treat next time — and then guided her outside with a gentle press on his fingers against the small of her back, grazing the silky material of her dress.

By unspoken agreement they walked to the Apparation point, his hands in his pockets and her’s tucked into the crook of his elbow. He was calculating his chance of a goodnight kiss when she turned toward him.

“Well?” She asked, hands skating delicately up his shirt front then coasting over his shoulders to dangle just the other side. “Did that fulfill your need for meeting societal expectations? Can I take you back to mine yet?”

He pretended to consider it but only managed for half a second before she clucked her tongue and he broke with a grin. She drew him closer.

“Hands on my waist and don’t let go,” she told him.

He obeyed immediately, sliding his hands around her middle. He didn’t have long to savor the feel of her before she’d spun them between planes.

Chapter Text

She rematerialized them on a street very similar to the one they’d just left, though this one was lined with neatly organized three-floor townhomes.

He took his time releasing her, easing up the pressure from his palms but gliding his fingers down to her hips, skimming through the material of her dress where it swished against her thighs.

She quirked an eyebrow at him appreciatively. “Very nice, Malfoy.”

He returned the expression. “Likewise, Granger.”

She rolled her eyes but looked pleased nonetheless. “I’m just up here,” she told him, leading him two doors over and up the front steps.

Inside was what he suspected the inside of Granger’s brain looked like. If she ever took up Occlumency, he was sure she’d be uncrackable, assuming there was a complex organizational rubric that only she knew the rules of guiding her interior decorations.

Her design scheme was cohesive enough, if one considered books a design scheme. He’d only stepped through her foyer and glanced into the front room and the living room beyond, but already had seen more books than he ever had outside of a bookshop or library.

“Do you think you have a book I could read?” He asked dryly, craning his neck to see the additional shelves that framed her front window.

“Oh, of course. The library is upstairs,” she said, completely missing his sarcasm as she stepped out of her heels.

“You have a library on top of all this?” He laughed. “Come here.”

He couldn’t wait a moment longer, pulling her towards him by her waist and ducking down to kiss her, though the first touch was more smile than proper kiss. He rectified it immediately, slanting his mouth against hers and kissing her with feeling. She responded instantly, winding her arms around his shoulders.

“Sorry,” he murmured when they broke apart. “Should’ve asked first.”

She shook her head. “No need. I want you to kiss me.”

So he did, drawing her face to his with a hand on her jaw. He brushed his tongue against her bottom lip and she opened to him. A jolt of arousal shot through him at the soft touch of her tongue against his. She tasted sweet, a combination of the wine and crème brûlée they’d shared.

Her hands had wound their way into his hair, fingers carding through the white-blonde strands in a caress light enough to be soothing but insistent enough that his blood was beginning to divert to a more recreational location.

“Let’s go upstairs,” she breathed.

“You sure?” He ran his thumbs soothingly down her sides, hands resting over the swell of her hips.

“Very.”

Well then.

He nodded, kissing her again. She let him then pulled away, interweaving her fingers with his to tug him down the hallway toward her stairs. Her bedroom took up most of the top floor, the remainder consisting of a bathroom and closed door he assumed was another bedroom, likely teeming with additional volumes. 

There were fewer books in her bedroom, which wasn’t to say there were none. He almost displaced the stack on her bureau when she pressed him against it, kissing him again.

His hands started out gentlemanly enough, holding her around her waist, but as her mouth and tongue working him up, they slid of their own accord to her arse.

He palmed her, groaning into her mouth as the act pressed her snugly against where his cock was thick and heavy in his trousers. He felt like he’d been half-hard for hours and the pressure of her pelvis against it eased the vague ache that had begun to throb through him.

She hummed a pleased sound against him, swaying her hips to confirm what she’d found. His fingers dug into the flesh of her arse at the grazing sensation.

Her hands trailed from where they’d been teasing the soft hairs at the nape of his neck down his throat and to the top button of his shirt. She slid it through the buttonhole and then bent forward to press a kiss to the side of his neck. She undid another and explored the revealed skin of his collarbones with more kisses.

He stared at the ceiling, wondering for the umteenth time if he’d hit his head and was actually having an extremely vivid hallucination.

He looked down sharply at the sensation of her tongue wetting the skin of his pec. He huffed a sound that might’ve been a laugh if his throat wasn’t so tight.

“Like that?” She asked, dragging her little pink tongue across his skin again. He inhaled through his nose, nostrils flaring.

She undid another button, the last she could follow with her tongue before needing to either bend down or…kneel. He’d fantasized about that enough times that he knew seeing her kneeling before him, mouth on his skin, was a quick way towards disappointing her, so he mitigated that embarrassment by enacting his own exploration of her chest.

He swept her hair off a shoulder with an intentionally lingering brush of his fingers against her neck, then trailed his fingers down the slim length of muscle to where it tapered off in front of her throat. She paused her hands, holding onto his shirt. Encouraged, he dipped his hand lower to trace his index finger slowly along the curve between her collarbones and then down the pathway of her sternum. His fingers paused just a hair’s breadth away from her breast. 

“Is this okay?” He checked.

“Yes.” She pressed herself forward into his waiting hand. He cupped her, squeezing enough to enjoy the supple residence and then easing off.

“You have fantastic tits,” he told her reverently.

“Thank you, Draco.” She leaned up and licked a soft, wet stripe up his throat. He squeezed her again reflexively, perhaps more firmly than he meant to, at the double sensations of her tongue. His name sounded good in her mouth, especially when she said it so breathy and low.

She hummed a pleased sound against his skin at his rough grip. She was both everything and nothing like he’d expected.

He felt warm, almost overheated. He wanted to take his clothes off. He wanted to take her clothes off. Unbidden, his hand slid from her breast to the strap of her dress, pulling half off her shoulder before he realized what he was doing.

“Sorry,” he blurted.

She chuckled. “It’s okay. Go ahead.”

He hesitated. “You’re sure this isn’t too fast?”

“Is it for you?”

He was sure. “No.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And do you think I’d let you do anything to me that I didn’t want?”

He was even more sure of that answer. “No.”

“So stop holding back. This is my official declaration of consent. I trust you know I’ll make you aware if that ever changes.”

She’d somehow known exactly what to say to relax him. She was absolutely right: he didn’t doubt for a moment that the second he did something she didn’t like, she’d let him know. She certainly had the power to stop him, even without the use of her wand.

And anyway, he wasn’t some untamed beast who would lose his mind and not listen if she told him no. Rather than put him on edge, scared to accidentally cross her line, he felt suddenly free.

But he must have paused for too long after her statement because she rolled her eyes and said, “Here,” before reaching behind to unzip her dress. She pulled the straps down, the bodice pooling around her trim waist, leaving her completely bare from her navel to her nose.

What had he been saying? About not being an untamed beast?

The sight of her naked breasts, full and flushed and tipped with delectable little rosebud nipples, had awoken something inside him. His mouth literally watered.

“Fuck, Granger,” he ground out. “Warn a man. Merlin.”

She looked rather pleased with his reaction, the tops of her cheekbones flushing the same pretty shade as her tits. “Go on,” she encouraged when he was still just staring at all the skin she’d unveiled for him. “You can touch me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He closed the distance between them, hands drawn like magnets to her breasts. She felt even better than she had through the dress, her skin soft and tender and so fucking feminine he wanted to…he needed to…

He leaned forward, nudging her nose with his then dropping a soft kiss to her mouth, her cheek, her jaw. He worked his way down her neck, pausing for a dizzying moment right below her jaw where her scent was richly concentrated, her perfume but also the floral notes of her hair and the delicate, musky scent of the faint perspiration he’d begun to draw out from her. It was a heady combination. He licked the spot, hungry for her, then continued his descent.

He sucked a rosy mark into the first soft swell of breast. His tongue felt wet against her skin, saliva pooling in his mouth at the taste of her. He wanted to devour her. Fuck, he wanted his mouth all over her. He swirled his tongue around her nipple and she moaned.

“Feel good?” He asked, cupping her other breast with his free hand. She clutched the back of his head, holding him against her.

“Do it again,” she gasped.

He did, stiffening his tongue as it circled her and then licking a firm stripe right across the tip. Her fist tightened in his hair and his cock throbbed. He sucked her nipple into his mouth, hard, in retribution and she keened.

“Oh, that’s so good.”

He groaned in response, her pleasure driving his own even higher. He reached behind her, finding the zipper and lowering it the rest of the way so he could tug her dress all the way off. Her knickers were lacy and he had to swallow hard lest he tear them off her, beast as she’d made him into.

“Get on the bed,” he told her, releasing some of the tension coiling in his body with a sharp swat to her arse.

She squeaked then giggled. “In a minute. I’ve always wanted to do this.”

Her hands found his belt, eyes dropping a moment later to watch herself slide the fine leather loose from the belt loop and then the front half of the buckle. She stretched the end taut in order to flick the prong free from the hole then pulled the buckle free.

By the time her fingers had alighted on his zipper, he was straining against it so fervently, she had to work at it a minute to get the teeth to separate. Her tongue darted out to wet her lip as she pulled his trousers open, eyes intent on the ridge of him now restrained only by his black boxer-briefs.

The way she was looking at him, appraising him, was sparking a match against a needy little place in him. He found he desperately wanted to hear what she thought of him.

But before he could find the words to ask, she reached forward and dragged the pad of her thumb over the head of his cock, pressing against the damp spot he’d made against the fabric. He hissed in a harsh breath, his cock jerking in response to her light touch.

“Gods,” she breathed. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

Salazar below. She could do whatever she wanted to him.

His voice was gravely, eyes on her hand. “Been wanting to fuck me for a while, have you?”

“Merlin, yes. Well, I’ve wanted your cock for a while, one way or another. Your trousers do such a nice job drawing the eye.”

“Oh?” His tailor was going to be getting an obscene tip. “Well go on, love, take what you want.”

She sucked in the corner of her lower lip, scraping the plush swell of it with a flash of sharp, white teeth.

“Vying for a little act of service?” She quipped, grinning teasingly at him when she found his eyes glued to her mouth. She coupled the taunt with a confident squeeze over his boxer-briefs, fingers mapping the shape of him with a few exploratory strokes.

“Your mouth on me would be a fucking gift,” he corrected roughly. “But one that I want to earn.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Sex isn’t transactional, Malfoy. You don’t need to earn a blowjob.”

“I want to.” He really did, too, the neediness edging its way into his voice, unbidden.

She fixed him with a penetrating look that morphed slowly into one of understanding. And then she smiled knowingly at him. “Oh. I see. And how would you like to prove that you deserve my mouth on you?”

He clenched his jaw. She was too clever for his own good.

When he didn’t reply, she pulled her hand off him to finish her earlier task of unbuttoning his shirt.

“Perhaps you’d like to give me a massage? Or make me come on your hand?” She mused, hands working deftly down the placket and then pushing it off his shoulders and down his arms. “Or are you more of the reciprocal type?”

He had to swallow the saliva that had flooded his mouth at the thought of getting his mouth on her cunt. It was an act he had spent innumerable hours learning and perfecting, at first just to be courteous because he really, really liked getting his cock sucked but then later because he found he had a knack for it where apparently a lot of men didn’t. He liked being superior to others, obviously, but really his success was largely due to his legitimate enthusiasm for it.

“Fuck yeah, Granger,” he said, “Let me lick your pretty little cunt and if I do it well, you can suck my cock.”

She raised her brows. “I like how you negotiate.”

She pushed his trousers down and then walked him backwards to her bed, rotating them so that it was her back that landed on the mattress.

He took a moment to commit to memory the absolute vision which was her sprawled on her creamy white sheets, curls awry, skin flushed, covered only by her sinful little lacy knickers.

He leaned over her, supporting himself on a raised arm as he kissed her soundly. He made to lower himself down her body but she halted him with a little noise. He glanced up and saw she’d brought her hand towards his face.

She dragged her thumb across his bottom lip and murmured, “Open.”

He did and she slid her two middle fingers into his mouth.

“Get them wet,” she told him.

He sucked them into his mouth, stroking his tongue against the undersides. She watched, rapt, until he deemed them wet enough and opened his mouth to present them to her on his tongue. He watched as she brought them between her legs and dipped below her knickers, swirling her fingers around her clit, the motion made easy by his saliva.

He groaned. “Fuck, that’s it, Granger. Get your cunt nice and acquainted with my spit. You’ll be fucking dripping with it soon.”

She whined, circling with intent.

He let her make two more passes and then batted her hand away. “That’s enough. My turn.”

He pressed her legs open with a hand on each thigh. “I like these knickers, Granger. Did you wear them for me?”

“I put them on knowing I’d see you, didn’t I?”

“Hmm.” He pinched the soft skin of her inner thigh to show her how much he appreciated her sass. She squealed and tried to close her legs but he was stronger, keeping them spread. “I’m going to take that as a yes. Have you been imagining what it’ll do to me to see you in them?”

She squirmed, as much as she could under his hold, and admitted, “Yes.”

He stroked a hand down the front of the lace where it gave way to silk, down to where she’d soaked the gusset. “It seems like you liked those thoughts.”

“Yes,” she panted. He was quite pleased with himself to have reduced her to positive, monosyllabic responses already.

“You like knowing that seeing you in these is making me so hard it hurts?”

“Yes.”

He raised an eyebrow, rubbing the knuckles of his left hand up and down her slow drag. “You like seeing me hurting for you, Granger?”

“So…so fuck me,” she whined. “I’ll make it better.”

He chuckled, working his fingers up to tuck under the waistband. “I’m going to, if you’ll let me. But you’re going to come first.” He stripped the knickers down her legs. He had to squeeze himself to ease the sharp throb that pounded through him at the sight.

“Circe,” he swore. “You’re so wet, Granger. I don’t even have to touch to know that I’d sink right into you.”

“Draco,” she hissed. “Merlin. Please.”

He tutted. “Not yet. I’m going to taste you first, remember?”

“Yes.”

He laughed, inordinately pleased with how receptive she was to him.

“That was rhetorical, love,” he teased, then lowered himself down to his knees, leaning his torso over the foot of the bed and sliding his arms under her thighs so that her legs draped over his shoulders.

He eased her into his touch, hands stroking the soft skin of her pelvis and then skimming down to hold the tops of her thighs, dropping open mouthed kisses from her knee to the seam of her. He grazed his lips against her but then carried on to trail wet marks down her other leg.

“Why do I feel like you’re about to destroy me?” She groaned as he reversed his path to return to center.

He smirked against her, flicking his tongue along her in a teasing stripe. She squealed.

“Because you’re a smart fucking girl,” he told her, then got to work.

Her hips rocked against his mouth at his first proper lick into her and he pressed his fingers into her hips to keep her still. He watched her from his southerly position, getting a sense of what she liked.

She was a bossy, needy little thing, squirming to get him where she wanted him, but once he figured her out, she let go and let him lead.

He mostly ignored her clit, paying it only passing attention until it was swollen and ready for him. When he finally closed his lips around it, she let out a high whine. He sucked until her eyelids fluttered, then memorized the pressure that had caused it and eased off, pressing the flat of his tongue against her clit in a slow circle to temper the building pressure.

“That’s how I’m going to make you come,” he told her. Then dragged his tongue along the length of her, the implication clear: but not yet.

She pushed her hands into her hair with a low groan, rocking her cunt against his tongue in a show of desperation he quite liked. He let her find the rhythm that she wanted and then held her down and replicated it.

He could tell she was getting close, her movements more desperate and less controlled, the pitch of her noises climbing higher and higher. He leaned his weight on an elbow to slide a forefinger inside her to get a feel for just how close she was. She bore down on it instantly, so hard he thought for a moment he’d accidentally triggered her orgasm. But then her walls relaxed and she whined.

Ah. Very close.

“You feel so ready, baby,” he told her, withdrawing his finger and sucking it clean. “Time to come.”

He felt perilously close himself but ignored his throbbing cock, fixated wholly on getting her off. He slid his thumb into her to give her something to squeeze on, curling his fingers around her arse to hold her where he wanted her. He stretched his other hand up to grope a breast, toying with her nipple, then dedicated himself to her destruction, winding her tighter and tighter with his tongue until her walls were squeezing around his thumb and she was gasping in little breaths of desperate anticipation.

He hummed a groan against her then sucked her clit into his mouth. She came almost instantly, moaning brokenly and trembling under his hands. He eased her though it, keeping her stimulated until she relaxed.

He stroked her nipple a final time then reunited his hands on her thighs, holding her open so he could admire his work. She was indeed dripping just as he’d promised, her cunt swollen and pink and glistening from his mouth.

He inhaled a calming lungful through his nose, resisting the urge to bury himself in her. His cock was leaking freely now, his boxer briefs uncomfortably damp and tight.

“Gorgeous,” he told her, stroking his thumbs soothingly on either side of her cunt. “You come so beautifully.”

She let out a shuddery laugh, staring at her ceiling for another breath before she levered herself up to a sit. He helped her, hands sliding up to her waist.

With him on his knees, she was slightly above him so she grabbed his jaw with both hands, tilting him up to kiss him. Her mouth opened against his to sweep her tongue across his bottom lip, tasting.

“That was incredible,” she told him between kisses. “You’ve earned yourself absolutely anything that you want.”

His chest swelled under her praise. He could hardly decide what he wanted first.

“You choose,” he told her.

She hummed a thoughtful little sound against him, then drew back, scraping her teeth lightly against his lower lip, sending a fissure of pain-tinged pleasure through him. “Stand up.”

He did, leaning a knee against the foot of her bed between her legs when she pulled him closer. She tugged his underwear down and let out a strangled sound, half moan and half awe.

“Draco,” she breathed. “Oh Merlin, look at you.”

He didn’t need to. He could feel it, had been suffering because of it for what felt like hours at this point. Nevertheless, his eyes dropped at her words.

His cock was so hard that the rosy tip of it was bobbing against his abdomen, leaving little wet marks on his skin. He was practically dripping, strings of his arousal leaving tracks down his shaft. With a soft finger, she traced the vein on the underside which had been pulsing urgently practically as soon as he’d first dipped his tongue inside of her.

As she trailed her finger up to the head, it released another glob of precum. Granger looked enthralled, her eyes following as it dribbled down.

When it slid down over his frenulum, she met it with her tongue.

He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth hurt, his balls pulling up tight. Fuck. Fuck.

She watched his reaction as she gave him a second, kittenish lick. “You have the most delectable cock I’ve ever seen,” she told him, eyes on his and tongue darting out a third time. “You’re going to feel so good inside me.”

She let out a needy little whimper and he tried not to collapse as his knees threatened to buckle. She stabilized him with a hand on his thigh, bringing her other up to wrap around his base. She gave him a comforting little squeeze.

“When’s the last time you came?” She asked him sympathetically, stroking her hand up in a loose fist.

He was too far gone to even consider stretching the truth. “This afternoon,” he grit out.

She looked appropriately surprised. “So recently? And yet you’re like this?”

“I wanted to take the edge off but,” he broke off in a groan as she slid her fist back down. “But I don’t think that’s even possible when it comes to you.”

She quelled a smile with her teeth but he could see that he’d pleased her. “What a lovely thing to say. You really are a lovely boy, aren’t you? And so good with your mouth. I’m not sure I’ve ever come so hard. But Merlin, just looking at your cock is making me flutter. I bet you’d like to feel it, wouldn’t you? My needy little cunt squeezing tight around you?”

He tried to hold it but her inquisitive little murmurings and coaxing hand had absolutely done him in. On her next upward stroke, he felt himself slip past his last vestige of control, his entire body tightening with excruciating tension.

“Oh, fuck,” he hissed. “Ah, you’re making me come. Fuck.”

She was quick to react, eyes flicking up to his face as she stroked him more firmly, angling him so that he painted her chest with three thick stripes, the fourth and fifth pulses coating her hand.

She hadn’t even probably sucked him, just a few licks and the gentle touch of her hand, and he’d exploded like a fucking teenager. His chest heaved as he worked to even out his breathing.

“Words,” he said, finally giving up and sinking to his knees, dropping his forehead onto her thigh as he panted. “My language is words.”

To anyone else it would’ve sounded like post-orgasmic gibberish but she just hummed an agreeable sound as she combed her fingers through his hair and down the back of his neck. He could hear the smile in her voice, like it was cute he thought he had to inform her. “I know.”

Did she? He hadn’t.

“Acts,” he said next, suddenly certain. “Yours is acts.”

“It is.” She sounded genuinely pleased.

Happy.

He could work with that.

“Sorry,” he offered on his next breath, turning to rest his cheek on her thigh and glancing up at her. He could see where his cum had streaked down across her chest and onto her tits.

“For what?”

“I didn’t mean to come already.”

She stroked his temple, tracing his hairline down to behind his ear and raised her eyebrows incredulously. “I hope you’re not apologizing for getting into such a state just from going down on me. That was quite literally the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

She seemed sincere but he couldn’t believe it could be true. “Really?”

“Yes, Draco.” She stroked his jaw. “Out of interest, what’s your refractory period like?”

“With you?” He smirked. “Give me ten minutes.”

She grinned. “I suspect I’ll give you anything you want.”

He leaned up to reach her mouth, kissing her sweetly and soft. “All I want is you.”