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Chapter Text

It was Saturday afternoon and Draco was sitting at Hermione’s kitchen island, sipping an Earl Grey and watching his two closest female friends interact. A year ago, it would have been a surreal sight but as he watched Pansy hold out her Muggle mobile phone to Hermione, he simply sipped his tea and waited for the judgment.

“Eh.” Hermione sounded unimpressed.

Not that one then.

“Hmm I agree.” Pansy took her phone back, swiping right to go back and then scrolling up.

They were trying to find a rental house for their upcoming friends trip, something they’d decided rather spontaneously during their last gathering and then had handed off to the two most particular of their group to plan.

“Oh this one is stunning.” Pansy’s thumb swiped rapidly, presumably looking through the photo gallery. “Ugh, but of course it only has four bedrooms, and all queen beds.”

“Well there are eight of us, so the math works fine. We can just double up,” said Hermione, going over to stand beside Pansy to look over her shoulder when she hadn’t been presented the phone. Pansy, instantly annoyed by the hovering, passed her phone to Hermione.

“It’s not as easy as just division,” she said, leaning against the counter. “Harry and Theo will share, obviously, but then we run into issues. I refuse to share with a boy, so it’ll be Ginny or you in with me and then the other four are stuck. And I don’t expect the Weasley siblings would be willing to share.”

Hermione screwed up her nose. “Not unless you want to hear screaming all night.”

Draco choked on his tea and Pansy said, “Excuse me!?” rather shrilly.

“Oh my god, obviously I didn’t mean it like that,” Hermione shuddered theatrically. “I meant that they’re both absolutely horrendous blanket hogs. They’d be fighting all night. Get your heads out of the gutter.”

Draco disliked the subtle reminder that Hermione had shared a bed with both Weasleys at various points in her life — one a bit less platonically than the other.

“Alright,” said Pansy. “Then we’re still stuck. How do we divide three rooms between three girls and three boys?”

“You share with Ginny. Blaise shares with Ron. And then Draco and I can share,” said Hermione easily, scrolling through the phone at the rest of the property images.

Pansy’s attention snapped to Draco so fast, he almost jolted at the impact of it.

“Oh?” She said with pointed interest.

Draco shook his head minutely at her and her brows shot up. She turned back to Hermione. “Why you and Draco, Hermione?”

“Well it’s such a lovely house, it’d be a shame to pass it up just because of sleeping arrangements.” She glanced up, perhaps sensing the underlying emphasis in Pansy’s question, and met his eyes. “You don’t mind, do you Draco? Or I could share with Ron if you’d rather be with Blaise?”

“Don’t mind a bit.” He sipped his tea, the picture of nonchalance.

Hermione nodded, eyes back on Pansy. “There you go. Sorted. Now, let’s book this before it gets swooped up.”

For her part, Pansy simply went with it, holding her hand out for her phone and then beginning to tap through the app to secure their reservation.

But when she swiped to the next page and waited for it to load, her eyes met his and he knew that she was simply biding her time until she had him alone.

They left Hermione’s a few hours later after another round of teas and a slice each of the apple pie she’d baked that morning. Befriending Hermione had benefited him in a myriad of ways but her skill with patisserie was one of the most delicious.

He had an unquellable sweet tooth and she was conscious of her sugar consumption, the threat of dental decay drilled into her by her parents to a degree that she couldn’t overcome. So, she got to enjoy baking without the guilt of it spoiling before she slowly consumed it, and he got to enjoy homemade treats on the regular.

That she was also delightful company, witty and wise and clever, was just an added bonus.

Pansy seemed equally taken with the curly-haired witch, though it had taken a few attempts at reconciliation to get there. Hermione was fiercely loyal and rather stubborn, and though Pansy was aggressive and outspoken, she was also cunning and a realist.

So, at Draco’s insistence and after a glass of wine, she had apologized for the antagonistic behavior of her school years, which Hermione had accepted with grace. And after the ice had cracked, it had swiftly melted and the two were now a force to be reckoned with. Not that Pansy needed any help with that.

“So,” she said crisply as soon as they were alone on the street. “Shall I interrogate you right here or do you want to come round to mine?”

Draco had long given up resisting, especially now that he’d selected for himself another strong female friend, so just held out his arm for Pansy to take.

“Yours is fine.”

She curled her hand around his elbow and Disapparated them to her flat. She shrugged off her coat upon arrival and went straight to the wine fridge. Draco hung his own jacket and got down two glasses, placing them upright on the counter where Pansy was uncorking a bottle of red with her wand.

She poured them each a measure and then propped her hip against the counter, taking a sip.

Draco snorted, picking up his own glass. “You’re not even going to ask a question? I’m just supposed to guess what you want to pester me about?”

She arched a slender eyebrow. “Claiming ignorance?”

“Exerting what little self-preservation I have left,” he countered with a smirk.

She laughed. “Fine. You and Hermione.”

He waited. “I’m not hearing a question.”

“Well, that alone is very telling. There’s nothing to question about it, hm? It’s self evident?”

“Nice try.”

She flicked her hair, the only sign that he’d finally won. Although in this case, his victory was also his loss. She fixed him with a frank expression.

“Alright, Draco. You and Hermione — sharing beds now, are you?”

He sipped his wine, swirled the glass. “Apparently.”

“Gods you’re aggravating.” She breathed in deeply through her nose. “Stop being a Slytherin for five fucking seconds and just answer me plainly. Are you into her?”

What a question.

It was the very one that had been swirling through his mind ever since Hermione had first hugged him, a proper, tight thing that had left him breathless both because of the ferocity of it and what it could’ve meant. But she’d been so nonchalant about it afterward and he’d soon learned that was just how she was. She was generous with her physical contact, and with more than just him.

He hadn’t had much personal experience with physical affection so it had taken a minute for him to acclimate. But once he had, he found he actually rather liked it. Particularly from her, of course, but not exclusively. He returned Theo’s hugs with a touch more enjoyment now, and hadn’t felt an immediate urge to shrug off Ron’s arm the first time he’d slung it over his shoulder in a moment of camaraderie in the pub.

But Pansy knew him best.

He’d have to have been extremely naïve to think she’d miss the subtly different way he touched Hermione over everyone else.

“This is not to be disclosed,” he warned her and she flicked a dismissive hand.

“Of course not. I’m an excellent secret keeper.”

He hesitated for breath then capitulated. “I’m into her.”

For her part, Pansy accepted this revelation with minimal fanfare. “And she you?”

“I…don’t know.”

“You haven’t discussed it?”

“No.” Salazar no.

“Never…attempted anything?”

He frowned. “How do you mean?”

“Well, is this a friends with benefits situation? And you’ve just gotten attached?”

He scoffed. “No. It's not sexual.”

She nodded. “But you’d like it to be.”

He sighed. “I’d like it to be everything.”

Pansy’s mouth twitched in a rare show of emotion, quickly washed away by a sip of wine. “Why, Draco. I do believe you’re a closet romantic.”

He didn’t have a response to that beyond a wry smile and a hearty swallow from his own glass. Pansy observed him silently for several painful seconds.

“What do you intend to do about it?” She finally asked, expression unreadable.

“My current plan is to be her friend the best I know how and hope that if she’s interested, she lets me know.”

Pansy absorbed this, and then barked a laugh. “You’re going to rely on her Gryffindor traits? That she’ll be the brave one? What if it takes her a decade to figure it out?”

“I’m not in a rush,” he said coolly. “I’m content to wait as long as she needs.”

“Salazar.” Pansy was wide-eyed. “You don’t just like her, do you?”

“No.” There was no point in denying it.

“So it’s…?”

“It is.”

Pansy reached for the bottle and topped up his glass and then her own. He raised his to her in a facsimile of a toast though neither of them had offered one. She tilted hers ever so slightly toward him in reply, looking rather grim.

He didn’t take it personally.

He knew her grip on the concept of love was as tremulous as his own. Neither of them had many positive role models for how a loving relationship was supposed to be. Certainly he knew his parents cared for one another but the war had driven a wedge between them, with him as the nexus. His father had endangered their family and Draco’s life specifically, and his mother hadn’t found it in herself to completely forgive that breach in trust.

And he wasn’t sure Pansy’s parents even had that.

But while his expectations were practically on the floor, he hadn’t quite managed to snuff out the little Hermione-shaped kernel of hope within his chest.

Chapter Text

The trip was booked for the following weekend.

The house that Pansy had rented was located in Great Rissington, a quaint little Muggle village in the center of the Cotswolds. The house itself was a large 17th century stone cottage newly updated on the inside. It boasted an acre of rolling hills and woods which could be admired from the terrace either from a chaise lounge or the hot tub.

As it was a Muggle area, they had to arrive in Muggle fashion so met up (via Floo or Apparation) at Hermione’s flat in Oxford since she lived the closest to their destination. She and Harry had each rented a car in order to drive them to the house that afternoon.

They’d all taken a half-day at work or, in the case of Pansy, Theo, and Draco, just nipped over when Hermione had indicated she’d be home (the three were independently wealthy and therefore self-employed). The rest of the group showed up as they were able, the last being Ginny who rushed in with apologies about practice having run late, her Quidditch coach on an absolute rampage. They piled into the cars and were off by a quarter to four.

Draco had a certain fascination with watching Hermione drive. He understood the basic mechanics of how cars worked but seeing it in action added a sense of complexity that made him disinclined to give it a go. But Hermione drove instinctively, shifting gears smoothly with a casual confidence that never failed to ratchet his libido up a few notches.

Perhaps it was the pleasure of seeing a thing done well or perhaps he was simply a man and found that watching her hand move expertly on the gear stick made him think of how that fine, dexterous hand would look manipulating other sturdy shafts.

Blaise and Ron had elected to join Harry and Theo, so behind him sat Pansy and Ginny. The two weren’t as familiar with one another but he’d seen a streak of friendship forming in the last few interactions, nurtured by their mutual enjoyment of sarcastic, almost-mean humor and the discovery that they both favored all things pear-flavored.

Friendships had been started on less, he supposed.

It was only a forty-minute drive from Hermione’s flat to the rental house. Pansy let them in via a key she’d retrieved from a code box around the side of the house and then marched through the space, assigning bedrooms as she went.

Hermione dropped her bag on a chair by the window in their room, taking in the view it afforded of the verdant meadow and rolling hills beyond. He leaned his bag against the wall next to the bureau and poked his head into the en suite loo.

“Nice,” he reported when she turned to see what he thought.

“Looks to be a comfy bed, too,” she said, eyeing the plush white duvet of the modest queen.

He half expected her to check again that he was okay sharing with her, but she simply hummed a little noise of satisfaction and then went to explore the rest of the house.

They’d brought groceries with them so prepared a simple dinner of pasta and salad, overseen by Harry who was the most experienced cook of them all. Apparently he’d been cooking the Muggle way since he was around seven, the reasoning behind it rather depressing but the life skill quite to their benefit.

Along with food, they’d also brought an unreasonable amount of alcohol, this time fueled by Blaise and Ron. That was another blossoming friendship which Draco had been surprised to witness.

It had originated in Quidditch, as so many adult, heterosexual male friendships seemed to, but had broadened rapidly over the course of the past year. Blaise had found in Ron the type of friend that Draco and Theo would never quite be able to be. Ron was easy-going, for one. He laughed easily, made an effort to socialize, and wasn’t in love with the other two-thirds of the Golden Trio, as Draco and Theo were, meaning he actually wanted to go out to pubs to try and pull.

“Right,” said Ron, once they’d cleared away the dinner things and had swapped wine for lager. “What’re we playing?” He summoned a pack of playing cards from his bag, the box zooming down the hall and into his waiting palm.

“It’s the weekend, isn’t it?” said Blaise, accepting the pack from Ron and pulling the tab open to dump the deck into his hand. “Let’s make it a drinking game. Shall we start easy with a little Truth or Dare? Or jump right to the good stuff.”

Being, as they were, a mixed group of Gryffindors and Slytherins, their Truths always ended up rather daring and their Dares quite truthful. It was a laugh for a few rounds but once the gameplay felt routine, they got bored.

So, their game of choice was always King’s Cup. It had been Hermione, of all people, who’d brought the game in, having learned it during the summer between Fifth and Sixth year at a Muggle friend’s party. They still adhered to the rules she’d explained with the exception of 4s and 6s. Pansy had protested the sexism of “fours for whores” (meaning the girls had to drink), and Theo had heartily agreed, if only because he considered himself more of a whore than a dick. Pansy, a certifiable master of being a dick, had suggested they swap and thus, Theo drank on 4s and Pansy on 6s.

“The good stuff,” decided Harry, which was met with general agreement.

Ron plonked a large drinking glass down on the table and Blaise deftly fanned the cards around it, face down. Their house rule was that gameplay began with everyone pouring a bit of their drink into the empty King’s cup. This often ended up being a horrific mix of cocktails, cider, and beer but as they were all currently drinking the same sort of beer, it ended up being a half-full pint glass of lager. Things would get dicey once they diversified into their preferred beverages but for now, it wasn’t a looming threat to pull the fourth King.

“Right,” said Blaise, their unofficial MC whenever drinking games came up. “Today, the starting player will be whoever shagged someone last.”

Draco rolled his eyes, looking expectantly over to Theo and Harry, the only established couple in their group. Theo looked at Harry, mouth pulled to the side as he evidently tried to remember.

How lovely for them that shagging was so regular that it no longer merited a special notice.

“Was it Wednesday?” Theo asked Harry, head cocked, then looked back at Blaise. “Wait, are you counting oral or does it have to be penetrative sex?”

Ron, bless him, blushed.

“I’ll allow oral if no one else has had some form of penetrative sex more recently than you got your dick sucked.”

“Why are you like this?” complained Ron. “Can’t you pick a less personal category? My sister is literally sitting right there.” He pointed at Ginny, who rolled her eyes.

“Why are you assuming I was the one doing the sucking?” interjected Harry petulantly. “It’s not always me.”

Theo patted his leg but ignored him, saying to Blaise, “Well I last fucked Harry on Monday, but he sucked my cock on Wednesday so…whichever wins, let’s go with it.”

Blaise accepted this with a nod and looked around. “Can anyone beat that?”

Draco watched Hermione in his peripheral vision but she just sipped her pint, waiting. Good. Well, not that it meant much more than that she’d been without any sort of sex for a mere five days. But, a man could hope.

“No one penetrated me and there was limited sucking involved, but I had a partnered orgasm last night, which I believe is what you’re really asking.” Pansy arched a brow at Blaise and he inclined his head.

“Ah, yes. Apologies for the phrasing. I’m going to assume that Pansy wins. Go on then.”

She drew a card from the table. It was a seven: point to heaven.

(They’d had to enforce a clause of literality on this one after Theo had once pointed to Harry and then refused to take the loss on the grounds that heaven was subjective and his was his boyfriend. He’d earned himself a chorus of groans, a sweet kiss from Harry, and a pedantic amendment to a drinking game rule.)

Pansy showed them all the card then sat back and sipped her drink, lying in wait to spring her upraised finger on them at a moment of her choosing.

As he sat to her left, Draco drew the next card. A nine: rhyme.

“Perpendicular.”

Ron and Theo groaned.

“You’re so annoying,” Theo said. “Just use a normal word for once.”

“Extracurricular,” said Hermione as soon as they’d finished complaining. He clinked his glass against hers with a meaningful look at Theo. His friend just snorted.

“Is just curricular acceptable?” asked Ginny.

“I’ll allow it.” Draco nodded.

“Testicular.” Blaise smirked and the girls rolled their eyes.

“Uh…” Ron stared into the middle distance for a moment. “Spectacular?”

“Ooh,” winced Hermione. “I don’t know about that one.”

“Not your turn to judge though, is it?” Ron said with a hopeful look to Draco. “Eh? Allowed?”

Feeling generous, Draco allowed it. “Fine, but it’s on the edge.”

“Stickler,” said Harry.

“He’s not!” Hermione defended. “Spectacular is only a near rhyme to perpendicular so it’s up to Draco if he wants to count it or not.”

Harry laughed. “Impassioned defense, Mione, but I was just giving my word.”

“Oh.” Hermione has the grace to look a little sheepish. “Sorry.”

Draco elbowed her. “Such a swot.” She elbowed him back. “But no way in hell am I allowing stickler, Potter. Drink.”

Harry did with an indifferent shrug. Hermione pulled her card next, an eight: pick a mate.

“Ah, in that case, I need another drink.” Draco downed the last of his lager and stood, heading to the kitchen. It was a given that she’d pick him to be her drinking buddy; they always picked each other first.

“Bring me a cider?” She called after him, confirming her choice in mate.

He came back with a double gin and tonic (to save having to get up again too soon) and a cider, poured into a glass like she preferred. It was Ginny’s turn next and she drew a ten: categories.

“Hmm…” She tapped a slender finger against her lips, eyeing each of them as she thought.

Bringing Ginny into the group had ended up being more fun than he’d expected, given that existing members included her older brother and her ex. She complimented the existing dynamic and added her own je ne sais quoi.

“Okay. The category is broomstick model. Nimbus 2000.”

Blaise, seated directly to her left, went next. “Nimbus 2001.” He emphasized the last digit.

“Cleansweep Eleven,” said Ron.

“Really?” Harry remarked, looking incredulously at his friend, then Blaise and Ginny. “No one’s first thought was Firebolt?”

Ginny tutted. “Don’t be pretentious Harry.” But her grin softened her words.

Theo drank.

“Love,” Harry turned his chastisement on his boyfriend. “You couldn’t think of any?”

“It was a boring category. Blaise, you’re up.” He dodged Harry’s swat and grinned when Ginny stuck out her tongue at him, standing up to fetch fresh drinks for himself and Harry.

Blaise drew a three so took a drink; three is for me. Ron drew a two, so pointed at Ginny; two is for you. She saluted him and took a hearty swallow. Harry revealed a King, splashing some of his red wine into the central vessel and turning the contents a ruddy pink.

“My rule is that you have to touch your nose when you take a drink,” he declared.

Pansy raised her index finger and Harry looked at her expectantly, waiting for her question, and then all at once they realized that actually, she was enacting her seven. Fingers shot up, the slowest being Hermione. She made a disparaging sound and took a drink, the tip of her finger on her nose, which meant as her mate, Draco had to as well.

Theo drew a Jack: never have I ever.

“Ooh. Okay gang, let’s see ‘em.” Obligingly, they all held up five fingers. As usual, Theo didn’t hold back. “Never have I ever performed oral sex on a woman.”

Everyone except for Ginny and Hermione put a finger down. She looked his way as he folded his thumb in and waggled her brows. He snorted, amused.

Pansy was similarly quick with hers. “Never have I ever received oral sex from a man.” She smiled sweetly at Ron who rolled his eyes but didn’t lower a finger. It was an inside joke between them that Draco had lost interest in trying to figure out.

Everyone else lowered a finger except for Draco and, he saw with a curl of delight, Hermione.

But how was that even possible? Surely any man who was lucky enough to go to bed with her would be on his knees at her earliest convenience.

He raised an eyebrow at her and she rolled her eyes. It was his turn next. “Never have I ever driven a car.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione each put down a finger.

“You’ve never driven dad’s car?” Ron directed to his sister.

“Obviously not,” she waved her hand at him, four fingers still raised.

“Never have I ever flown a broom alone.” Hermione looked around the table smugly as everyone lowered a finger.

“Appalling,” he told her and she smiled, unfussed.

Ginny looked around at their hands, trying to target whoever had the fewest fingers remaining. Harry, somehow, only had one left.

She smiled directly at him as she gave her statement. “Never have I ever spoken in Parseltongue.”

Harry took the loss, using his final raised finger to touch his nose while he took a drink.

Surprisingly, Ron also lowered a finger. “Technically I was just repeating what I’d heard Harry say,” he offered as explanation.

Pansy pulled the second King and decreed that everyone had to address each other as sir or ma’am, no first names.

The game got progressively more unhinged from there.

Chapter Text

They took an intermission after the next King was pulled — by Theo, who ruled that all mates had to share a chair, which meant Harry was now sitting on his lap and Hermione had perched herself on Draco’s — as everyone was getting snacky.

Hermione joined Pansy and Ron in the kitchen, pulling down bags of crisps and a packet of biscuits. Ron dumped the crisps into two bowls and took them out to the table.

As soon as he’d disappeared through the doorway, Pansy rounded on Hermione. “So what’s the deal with you and Draco?”

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at her, hands busy opening the biscuits. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t be coy. You two are more touchy-feely than ever.”

Hermione rolled her eyes dismissively. “That’s just how we are. There’s nothing ‘going on’.” She emphasized the last phrase.

“You’re claiming you aren’t flirting with him? Sitting on his lap and playing with his hand and sharing your drink?” Pansy’s eyebrow was arched so high it had almost disappeared behind her fringe.

Hermione scoffed. “No. He’s like a brother to me.”

Pansy scrunched up her nose. “You saying that is just emphasizing how much of an only child you are. How you and Draco are is not how siblings interact.”

“But I’ve known him since we were kids!” Hermione insisted.

Pansy shook her head. “No, I’ve known him since we were kids. You went to school with us and only really met him as an adult.”

Hermione furrowed her brow at the subtle nuance of that statement. “Okay, I suppose I can agree to the exactness of that. But what’s your point?”

“That if anyone is going to siblingzone him, it’s me. The very best you can do is friendzone but honestly, Granger? I don’t believe that either.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You and everyone else. I swear, it’s like no one’s ever heard of a platonic heterosexual friendship.”

Pansy sighed. “Fuck me, you’re annoying sometimes. Aren’t you supposed to be smart?”

Hermione glared. “What, so you’re saying that your friendships with Harry, and Theo, and Blaise, and Ron, and Draco are all secretly sexual? Didn’t know you were so kinky, Parkinson.”

“I’m a lesbian, Granger,” Pansy deadpanned. “So obviously that’s not what I’m saying.” And then her expression turned mischievous. “Now, if you were to challenge the platonicness of my friendship with Ginny, you might be approaching a point.”

Hermione’s eyes widened with interest, instantly diverted. “You like Ginny? Ooh! I can totally see it. You two are so similar but different, you know? Both pushy and outspoken but also super loyal and so self-motivated. Actually, I—“

“Shut up,” interrupted Pansy. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know but you’re proving my point. Any of those things could be said about you and Draco, too.”

“But that’s also what makes us such good friends,” Hermione insisted, “We’re so complementary to one another. And anyway, things don’t have to be romantic to be intimate.”

Pansy rolled her lips in and rubbed them together, looking both extremely frustrated and, worryingly, rather calculating.

“And you’re sure Draco feels the same way?” She asked at last.

Hermione didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

Pansy raised a brow. “Why so certain?”

“The same way that I know you don’t want to fuck me just because I’m a girl,” Hermione said coolly. “There’s just an…unspoken understanding.”

Pansy laughed, a derisive sound that faded quickly. “So, it’s based on nothing. Okay. Excellent. This is going to end really, really well, I can already tell.”

Before Hermione could unravel that response, Pansy waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t get too excited, that wasn’t a disagreement to everything you said. You’re beautiful, obviously, but not my type at all. So, one point to Gryffindor for at least correctly identifying one person who doesn’t want to fuck you.”

“Charming.”

Pansy snatched the packet of biscuits from her outstretched hand. “Thanks, it’s effortless. Grab some Bertie Botts, will you?”

“Sure.” Hermione turned back to the cupboard as Pansy left, going up onto her toes to find the sweets.

She rejoined the group a moment later, dropping the beans box in front of Pansy as she settled back onto Draco’s lap. He wrapped his arm around her waist in a casual gesture, continuing his conversation with Ginny as if Hermione sitting on his lap was typical.

And actually, it kind of was.

They’d always been touchy-feely, as Pansy had accused. Hermione was an affectionate person and always greeted her friends with hugs, leaned her head on their shoulders, looped her arm through theirs, and so on. Draco didn’t get special treatment, exactly, but as he was also a physically affectionate person, it just seemed like it.

As if to prove her point, she watched him reach over to ruffle Pansy’s hair in retaliation for her denying him a handful of the Bertie Bott’s.

The look he received from the petite witch suggested he’d committed an egregious act and would be swiftly punished. “Draco Lucius Malfoy!” she snapped.

“You forgot sir,” he taunted, and earned himself a whack on the arm for it.

He laughed, shying away from Pansy’s next attack and jostling Hermione as he did. She squealed and wrapped her arms around his neck to stay seated. His arm tightened around her, holding her steady against his torso.

“Ma’am!” Hermione bleated, her tone less stern and more amused than she’d hoped. “Innocent bystander! Cease fire!”

Pansy satisfied herself with another two, rapid swats and then smoothed her hair with nimble fingers.

“Drink,” Blaise told her.

“Why?” She demanded.

“Use of a first name, as sir said.”

Pansy rolled her eyes and took her penalty drink — and then another just to be a brat — middle finger touching her nose rather pointedly. Blaise chuckled.

There were only five cards left, one of which was the game-ending King. Ginny flipped over an Ace: waterfall.

“Bottoms up, sirs and madams!” She trilled, raising her pint.

They all followed suit, drinking until the person to their right stopped. Thankfully, Ginny only had a few inches of cider left, but unluckily for Hermione, she was at the very end of the circle as she sat to Ginny’s right.

She tried to take surreptitious little sips but of course Draco noticed, bringing his other hand up to tip her glass so she had to chug. She wiggled back against him to express her displeasure at him catching her and he spluttered into his glass and pulled it away, coughing.

She stopped as well — he was to her right, so it was allowed — with a celebratory little whoop. She’d have to remember that tactic next time.

“Unfair.” He pinched her side and she fixed him with her most innocent expression.

Ron drew next and groaned. “Bloody hell, I always pull the last King,” he grumbled, eyeing the off-putting concoction he now had to drink.

Blaise plucked it up and gave it a little swirl, encouraging the contents into a semi-homogenous state. “Surely it’s not the worst one we’ve ever created. It’s just lager, cider, and red wine.”

“And Draco’s gin,” Hermione added, mostly to tease Ron, who disliked the spirit as much as she did. “Delicious.”

Ron sent a betrayed look her way and she giggled. With a final sigh, he tilted it up and took a tentative sip. “Eh, not bad.” The rest was gone in a few hearty swallows. Despite his complaints, Ron really was a champion when it came to finishing off whatever consumable they threw at him.

“Right,” declared Theo, when the empty glass had been dramatically thunked onto the table. “Let’s put a film on. I brought my projector.”

It took a while to relocate themselves to the large living room, both because they were all rather tipsy so they kept getting distracted and also because Theo had declared they watch the film from a large pile of pillows and blankets on the floor, which meant they all had to break away to scrounge for the nesting materials.

But finally, everything was ready and he tapped his wand on the magical projector to get the film going. Draco had dragged the duvet from their bed while she’d trailed after with their pillows, setting up a comfy spot on the outer right side of the group.

Draco settled himself down and Hermione snuggled up beside him, resting her cheek against his chest and wrapping her arm around his ribs. He slung his arm over her hip, thumb hooking into a belt loop. She wiggled a little to get comfortable, finding the spot she preferred.

Unbidden, her brain jumped back to Pansy’s assertion that siblings didn’t behave as she and Draco did. That was probably true, but so what? They weren’t actually siblings. Hermione was just a touch-driven person, and she’d never gotten a sense from Draco that he was adverse to it.

They always cuddled when they watched movies and were happy to share a drink or trade off bites from a pastry, usually with her feet tucked under his thigh or his arm over her chair back.

Normal friend stuff.

And anyway, there was nothing innately sexual about being physically close with someone, regardless of their gender. She pet Harry’s hair sometimes, and had sat on Theo’s lap on a crowded bus once. That those two happened to be only interested in men only slightly weakened her point but then…ah! She’d hooked her arm through Ron’s when they’d gone on a walk to the shops the other week. And she knew there was absolutely nothing sexual between them anymore.

The material of Draco’s jumper was soft under her cheek, drawing her attention back to him. His spicy, masculine scent was always strong when she cuddled him like this or hugged him. It smelled like comfort to her, familiarity.

She trailed her hand along his ribs to stroke the material of his jumper, rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger where she could see, just above the base of his sternum.

He shifted slightly but didn’t make a sound, his breathing steady below her cheek.

She considered the material. It was probably some sort of cashmere. She didn’t know fabrics well but thought it felt as soft as the skein of yarn she’d bought last week, its final form to be that of a beanie for the man beside her. She’d felt the impossible softness of it and instantly known it was perfect for him.

She stroked along the material, fingers drifting down to the hem and then back up in a slow gesture that was half lulling her to sleep. As her hand readied itself for another return journey up, her fingers snagged on the hem and slipped underneath. His skin was warm and somehow softer than his jumper. She hummed a little sleepy sound of pleasure at the discovery, grazing her finger tips back and forth along the slight dip-and-rise of his hipbone.

As her hand drifted toward center, she encountered the little strip of hair that ran down into his trousers. She toyed with it absently, visualizing the light gold of it that she was familiar with from all the times she’d seen him shirtless.

She made another soft stroke of her fingers, pinky brushing up against the waistband of his trousers, when he made a rather strangled sound. It was quiet so as not to disturb the others but she thought it sounded like a groan he’d tried to contain.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “Ticklish?”

He huffed a small sound, an incredulous, disbelieving thing, then murmured, voice low. “Aroused.”

It sent a thrill through her, surprised and, for some reason, proud.

“Oh.” She wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that information.

She idly traced another pattern as she considered it. It was to be expected, she thought. She’d probably be a bit aroused too if someone was stroking her so softly.

She didn’t do it consciously, but her next pass had her hand brushing against his belt. His hand pinned hers instantly.

“Mercy,” he whispered.

She tilted her face to his, what she could see of it in the darkness. “Sorry. I’ll stop,” she whispered back. “You’re just so soft.”

He breathed a laugh, strained. “No I’m not.”

His innuendo sent a little bolt of pleasure through her, that she’d somehow affected him with hardly anything.

She tutted teasingly. “In front of everyone? That’s not very appropriate, Draco.”

She felt his chest rumble as he chuckled lowly. “You menace.”

She grinned, not that he could see it in the dim room but perhaps he could feel it against his chest. “I wasn’t trying to. It’s not my fault you’re so sensitive.”

He dragged her hand off his belt and up to rest on his stomach, curling his fingers around hers. “As I said,” he murmured, “take mercy on me.”

She snuggled her head back into that perfect space between his arm and shoulder, pillowed on his pec. “Mmhmm. As you wish.”

She let her eyes drift shut, enjoying the slow stroke of his thumb across the back of her hand, the warmth of him beside her, the soft rise and fall of his chest under her head.

She might have dozed off, though it was hard to tell when lying in the dark, but she was certainly jostled to a more wakeful state when the hand Draco had on her hip squeezed and he murmured, “C’mon, Hermione. Bed time.”

She opened her eyes to see that their friends were quietly getting to their feet, grabbing handfuls of pillows and blankets and empty drinks glasses to drift off to the bedrooms. The film had finished.

She nuzzled down against him and he laughed softly. “You can come right back here when we get there, I promise. Now come on, my back’s killing me on this damn floor.”

She thought he was being a bit dramatic as the plush duvet below them had done an adequate job but rolled off him nonetheless. Once she was off him, he levered himself up with an effortless sit-up and pushed a hand through his hair, tousling it and then raking it back.

She curled a fist into the side of his jumper and he looked over his shoulder to where she was now lying on her back. “Is this cashmere?”

She was sleepy, the several ciders she’d had making it harder to pull her brain back into full wakefulness now that it’d had a taste of sleep.

Draco looked down at her fist then back to her, amused. “Probably. I don’t know. Come on, you can look at the tag in the morning.”

She hummed an agreeable sound and raised her arms overhead, spine arching to extend the stretch. When she reopened her eyes, she saw he was watching her.

“Quite finished?” He asked mildly, then pulled himself up and held out a hand to help her up.

He collected their bedding and followed her down the hall to their room. She grabbed her pajamas and changed with eyes half-shut in their bathroom, passing her toothbrush over her teeth purely out of habit. Her mum would be so proud. She snorted, picturing Jean Granger praising her daughter for remembering to brush even when sloshed.

Draco had remade the bed and was lounging under the covers by the time she exited the bathroom. She gratefully crawled in beside him, draping herself lazily over him in a mirror of the position they’d been in on the floor.

This was not the first time she’d slept beside him but it was the first time doing so in proper bed. It added a certain gravitas that sleepovers on Harry’s living room floor hadn’t had.

But she was both too sleepy and too tipsy to give it the proper thought it deserved. So she simply snuggled up next to him and shut her eyes.

“Night-night, Draco,” she told him, already half asleep.

He shifted slightly to get comfortable then said, quite softly, “Goodnight, Hermione.”

Chapter Text

Hermione woke up warm. Almost uncomfortably so.

She peeled back an eyelid and saw that the sun was already steaming in through the window, the rays draping themselves halfway across the bed while the curtains hung uselessly on either side of the massive window like apologetic ghosts. They’d forgotten to draw them the evening before and now had a perfect view of the pastoral landscape, lit by — judging on its angle and strength — a late morning sun.

They.

She turned her attention to the other, more significant source of heat. Draco was still asleep, his arm draped heavily across her midsection and face tucked down towards her shoulder. She was lying mostly on her back, her outside leg bent to the side and the opposite hip tilted just slightly up, enough that he’d half-wedged his below her. With a touch more effort on his part, she was sure she’d have woken up fully on her side with him nestled behind her. Fleetingly, she wished she had. But then again, this position granted her the ability to see his face, at least the half that wasn’t hidden by her shoulder and his pillow.

He looked guileless, almost tranquil. She traced the fine line of his cheekbone with her gaze, inspected the slightly darker hair of his eyebrows, the slightly fuller bottom lip. She knew him quite well, she thought, but it was funny how she hadn’t really looked at him with such care before. He really was rather beautiful.

But further admiration had to wait: she really needed to pee.

She tried to shift out from under his arm but only got halfway before he made a sound and tugged her back.

“Draco,” she whispered, amused. “Let go.”

He cracked an eye, mouth curling into a smile. “But then you’ll get out of bed. And you’re so warm, Granger.”

Her stomach fluttered at the gravel in his voice, sleepy and rough.

“I need to pee,” she informed him. “Not sure you’d appreciate me staying here for that.”

He waggled the brow she could see. “Don’t kink shame me.”

“Idiot.” She swatted at his forearm and he finally relented, dragging it off her so she felt the entirety of it sliding against her pajama top, down to the individual pads of his fingers. It was a teasing touch, perhaps a retaliation for the way she’d absently stoked his stomach the evening before.

She extricated herself from the covers and popped to the loo to take care of business. Draco looked like he’d fallen back asleep when she exited, so she grabbed a sweater and pulled open the door to the hallway.

“Hermione! Come for a soak,” called Ginny from the end of the corridor, her red hair swinging in the high ponytail as she double-backed upon seeing Hermione emerge. “Pansy and I are going in the hot tub while the boys make breakfast.”

The idea of steeping in hot water while the scents of bacon and coffee swirled around was a thought too tempting to deny.

“Sounds lovely,” she called back then reversed her steps back into their room and over to her bag.

Draco shifted and sat up, pushing a hand through his hair and watching her progress across the room.

“Need a chaperone?” Draco asked, voice innocent but smirk firmly in place.

She fixed him with a look of stern rebuke, though the effect was slightly compromised by the unquellable sparkle in her eye, the same she could never contain when she joked with him.

He laughed. “Right. Well I suppose I’d better go join my brethren in the kitchen.” 

Swimsuit located, she slipped into the bathroom and changed and then brushed her teeth and pulled her curls up into a messy bun to keep them dry. She didn’t have a cover up and considered transfiguring a towel into one before deciding it was too much fuss and instead just grabbing a folded towel and tucking it under her arm. It was a warm morning and anyway, they’d all seen her in a bikini before.

She padded down the hallway to the living room and then over into the kitchen, aiming for the back door that would take her to the hot tub on the terrace. The kitchen was a scene of heart-warming domesticity. Theo was at the stove, stirring something with a wooden spatula. Harry was toasting bread. Draco was cutting fruit on a chopping board at the kitchen counter, against which Blaise was leaning and doing nothing more useful than sipping something from a mug. Ron was nowhere to be seen, likely still asleep.

“Morning boys,” she said to alert them to her presence and then stood still for a moment to quickly gather data.

Draco’s eyes found her first and skimmed down the length of her body in a way that left faint trails of heat in their wake. But as soon as he reached her feet, he went right back to his chopping board, looking entirely unfazed. She considered how to interpret that. He’d looked, yes, but so had Theo and Blaise; and Blaise the most intently of the three.

So, had the look just been an automatic thing?  A general, bog-standard curiosity over her sartorial choice? Or perhaps a biology-driven response when in the presence of a nearly nude female of his species?

“Morning, Mione,” said Harry.

He’d smiled at her without looking any lower than her eyes. Perhaps that was how siblings interacted, she thought. All told, he was actually the closest thing to a brother she had, both in length and intimacy of friendship and because of the absolutely zero sexual thoughts she’d ever had about him. Experiment inconclusive, she carried on across the room, pushing open the back door and slipping outside.

The air outside was temperate but the breeze had a faint bite to it, so she scurried quickly toward the plume of steam rising from a little nook in the profile of the house. Now that she thought of it, she half expected to find Ron there rather than in his bed. But no, there was just one ginger head floating above the water alongside Pansy’s dark hair. She left her towel on a chair and climbed up and into the hot tub. Ginny and Pansy were each in a corner already so she took the low bench across from them which faced the way in.

“Gorgeous way to start the day, isn’t it!” Ginny remarked cheerily.

Pansy had opened her eyes to appraise Hermione’s choice in swimwear and then lazily slipped them closed again.

“Sleep alright?” Hermione asked Ginny and just like that, Pansy’s attention was rapt on her.

“Lovely, lovely.” Ginny fanned her fingers out along the surface of the water.

“And how did you sleep?” asked Pansy sweetly.

“Great.” Hermione rolled her eyes at Pansy’s lack of subtlety.

“Oh? Went right to sleep? Or did you get a little help unwinding?”

Hermione raised a challenging brow. “I could ask you the same thing.”

She flicked her eyes meaningfully to Ginny, who’s own were closed, head rested back against the built-in cushion while she hummed softly to herself. Pansy narrowed her eyes, acknowledging the mutual destruction Hermione threatened. They settled back to enjoy the hot water in the ever-warming sunshine, the faint country breeze playing with the few escaped curls and batting them cheekily across Hermione’s nose and cheeks. She shut her eyes and let it have its way with them.

An indeterminate amount of time later, they were roused from their meditative calm by the opening of the back door.

“Cooee, hens!” called Theo. “Breakfast is ready!”

Pansy didn’t move from her recline, and mused, “I wonder what it would take for them to serve us out here.”

Ginny snorted, sitting forward and tightening her ponytail with a quick tug. “If you’re asking about Harry and Theo specifically, I’m afraid the answer is: more than we biologically have to offer.”

Ginny didn’t dwell much on her former relationship with Harry and certainly didn’t hold against him the fact that he’d gone from her to a male partner, but nevertheless Hermione heard the slight ruefulness in her response.

“And I’m sure Ron and Blaise hardly helped so wouldn’t be deserving of what we do, biologically, have on offer.” Hermione joked and then, feeling playful, she shimmied her shoulders to make her breasts jostle meaningfully.

Ginny snorted appreciatively at the joke but of course, Draco chose that exact moment to appear from around the corner. His eyes locked on her chest but then flicked up to her face, expression amused.

“I see you three do need a chaperone after all. Come on now, eggs are getting cold.” He held up a towel and, chagrined, Hermione took it.

“Thanks.”

She stood fully, the hot water sluicing down her, and wrapped the towel around herself, securing it with a little tuck just in front of her armpit. He held up a hand to help her step out of the tub and onto the wooden platform, the act like something out of Austen novel.

The thought tickled her so she told him, “Thank you, my lord,” in a put-upon posh accent.

“Merlin, Granger,” Pansy intoned dryly. “Tone it down. I’ve not had my tea yet.”

Draco snorted and released her hand once she was down on the flagstones, then summoned a second towel.

“C’mon, Pans,” he said, holding it up. “There’s a strong brew on the table and I expect you’re in danger of getting pruney so you best get out.”

Pansy looked at her fingers, dismayed, and Ginny laughed, standing and slinging herself gracefully out and stalking back to the house sans towel. Hermione noticed that Draco didn’t spare her a single glance, although Pansy certainly did.

“Keep it in your pants, Parkinson,” he told her with faux-disapproval, then shook the towel pointedly. “C’mon.”

“How very daring of you to say that to me,” she told him mildly, finally standing and allowing him to drape the towel around her shoulders.

“Be nice,” he warned, then helped her out as well.

Hermione didn’t bother trying to parse that conversation, so much of it going unspoken that any guess she could’ve made was likely a waste of her time. While she and Pansy ate breakfast in their bikini-towel combination, Ginny had thrown on a pretty little white linen dress over hers and, judging by the lack of damp spots, had cast a drying charm on herself first. Ron made an appearance when they were just clearing up, his hair tousled and smile sheepish but grateful when Harry indicated the plate he’d set aside in the warmer.

After breakfast, they divided. Pansy had found a famous hedge maze in town, the Dragonfly Maze, so she, Ginny, Ron, Blaise, Hermione, and Draco intended to check it out. Theo and Harry had declined joining on the basis that Harry was firmly against ever entering a hedge maze again, which no one particularly blamed him for, so instead, he and Theo had elected to hike around the surrounding countryside and would meet them at the pub for lunch.

As the maze was a ten minute drive away, the six of them crammed themselves into Hermione’s rental car, Ron in the backseat with Pansy on his lap and Blaise with Ginny. If they’d been fair, it really should’ve been Draco with Ginny on his lap as Blaise was by far the biggest of them all both in height and breadth, but no one challenged his right to being Hermione’s shotgun and he certainly didn’t suggest otherwise.

The maze parking lot only had two other cars in it, a good sign that they wouldn’t be overrun with other tourists. Hermione bought their tickets from the shop and then they were off. The purpose of the maze was to reveal the titular golden insect, hidden within a mechanical frog which would only open when the final riddle was solved.

Predictably, they broke further into pairs: Ginny and Pansy, Ron and Blaise, and Hermione and Draco. The fiercely competitive, the strategic, and the intellectuals, respectively.

Ginny and Pansy were miles ahead in no time and slowly the remaining quartet drifted further and further apart as Hermione and Draco lingered longer on the various clues inlaid in metalwork set into stones along the pebbled paths while Ron and Blaise determined the best strategy was simply hunting down the golden clockwork frog and puzzling out the final clue there.

Hermione was squatted down in front of the latest clue she and Draco had arrived at. The Roman numeral marked it number five, so she was sketching the image etched into the stone below them onto the provided pad of paper at the designated spot. Some clues were riddles and others pictures, the objective being to identify what word the clue revealed which they’d add to the sentence they were building.

“Do you think this is a friar?” she asked Draco, taking in the robes and sandaled feet of the little etched image. “Or a priest?”

He hummed contemplatively. “Or a monk. Look at his hair – isn’t that a tonsure?”

She glanced up at him, pencil skittered slightly on the page. “You know the word for the specific hair style?”

He shrugged. “It’s so esoteric, I couldn’t forget it.”

She tried not to find it ridiculously sexy, but who was she to judge what her brain liked.

“Right.” She cleared her throat, inspecting the etching closer. It really did have the classic monk haircut, shaved along the top with a little ring of longer locks around the circumference. “I think you’re right. Let’s go with monk.” She scribbled it down then stood.

They caught up with Ginny and Pansy just outside the circular brick structure in the center of the maze. Ginny immediately snatched at Hermione’s paper but Hermione was quicker, stepping back and clutching the paper protectively to her chest.

“Ginevra,” she scolded, “No cheating!”

Ginny swiped for it again, unapologetic, and Hermione scurried to the side, knocking into Draco. He steadied her with warm hands on her waist and turned her out of Ginny’s grasp, laughing.

“Come on, Ginny,” Pansy called from the mouth of the structure. “We don’t need Team Swot’s answers. Let’s go see if we’ve cracked it.”

Ginny flicked her brows in a final show of competitiveness that had Hermione half eager to dart inside ahead of them and solve it first, but as Draco hadn’t let her go, she had to simply taunt Ginny with a quick poke of her tongue at her. Ginny laughed then obediently followed Pansy inside. Hermione made to follow but Draco tightened his grip.

“Patience, Hermione. Let them have a go first before we crack it.”

She relented, leaning back against his chest and reviewing their answers on the paper, holding it up slightly so he could read it over her shoulder. His hands slid easily around her, hugging her to him from behind.

Now that Pansy had put the thought into her head, Hermione found that she was now analyzing Draco’s every move. Was he holding her in a friendly way, like he would Pansy? Or was he flirting? She’d never really considered his behavior towards her as anything beyond platonic affection but, objectively, if she saw another pair standing as they were, her first thought wouldn’t be that they were just good friends.

Still, he hadn’t ever overtly hit on her. Not even a lingering, leering look (not that she necessarily wanted to be leered at but at least it would’ve made his intentions more blatant). On the contrary, he was nothing but a gentleman to her. She felt appreciated by him, intellectually and aesthetically, but without the underlying suggestion of wanting more.

She couldn’t explain it. They were just…Draco and Hermione.

She was brought out of her revere by the emergence of Ginny and Pansy, twin looks of smug pride on their faces.

“Piece of cake,” Ginny informed them. “Let’s see how you get on.”

Up for the challenge, they took their turn in the structure. It was darker inside, the central focus an ornate, glass-walled case within which resided a rather beautiful frog, wrought of golden swirls and gears, sitting atop a red velvet cushion. She found the place to enter the phrase they’d come up with and gave a little squeal of glee when the gears immediately shifted to reveal the golden dragonfly on the frog’s long pink tongue.

“Well done, Granger.” Draco presented his palm and she slapped it enthusiastically.

“Likewise, Malfoy. We make a good team.”

“I’ve always thought so,” he agreed.

They rejoined the girls in the sunshine and went to look for Ron and Blaise, her mind now working to interpret that response.

Chapter Text

Greater Rissington was a picturesque little village and they enjoyed a late lunch in the sun-drenched back gardens of a local pub, their group rather larger than could comfortably be accommodated indoors.

Draco didn’t often venture into exclusively Muggle areas alone but being friends with Hermione meant that he’d quickly acclimated to the experience when he was out with her. He no longer followed each new stranger with cautious, curious eyes nor did he fumble over the paper money that served as currency to the majority of the country he’d been born into.

It was a unique gift to have been given after such a closed minded youth, the warm welcome of the people he now considered fellow countrymen.

Indeed, when the barkeep came out to chat with them, nodding along to their stories of the maze and guffawing good-naturedly to Theo’s tale of encountering a herd of rather rude sheep on the lane, he was once again filled with a warm sense of belonging. Hermione, for once seated across from him rather than beside, caught his expression and sent a warm smile his way.

She looked happy, he thought. Sun-warmed and sparkly.

She was wearing a little yellow sundress that offset the tone of her skin to perfection, hair half caught up with a clip that had slowly begun to succumb to the unavoidable pull of gravity, spilling curls with every sharp turn of her head. He had half a mind to go over and redo it for her, but knew that such an act would only garner Pansy’s watchful gaze and he was disinclined to provoke her any further.

So instead, he sipped his pint and tuned back in to what Blaise had been saying, something to do with whatever he and Ron had gotten up to while the rest had studiously been solving the maze.

After lunch, they piled back into the cars and returned to the house. They passed the next few hours in various pursuits of leisure: reading, napping, and playing board games.

The women had volunteered to prepare dinner that evening, so he and the lads suited up and brought tumblers of whisky out to the hot tub for a bit of a soak as the sun slowly melted into the meadow.

“Ahhh,” sighed Theo with relish. “If only we could do this every day.”

“You could do this every day,” Blaise remarked. “Unlike us hard working folk, you could literally sit in the tub all day if you wanted.”

“Oh my apologies, Zabini,” said Theo dryly, “I didn’t realize that your million-or-so Galleons of inheritance wasn’t sufficient to fund your desired lifestyle and therefore you are forced to work your dull job in Magical Games which I know you hate given how many times you haven’t talked my ear off about it ad infinitum.”

Blaise barked a laugh. “Wanker.”

“Hmm quite.” Theo flicked water at him. “Anyway, I was speaking more of the day in general, and how nice it’s been to spend it with you lot.”

“Aw,” said Draco, with a grin. Theo directed his next splash toward him.

“Despite this juvenile reception to my sentiments, I somehow still don’t withdraw them.” He eyed them, amused, over the rim of his glass.

Harry, the absolute flirt, leaned forward to swipe up a stray drop of whisky from down the side of Theo’s glass with his thumb, licking it off a moment later. The look Theo sent Harry was beyond indecent.

It was Blaise’s turn to splash at Theo. “Down boy,” he snorted. “Not in front of Ronnie.”

Ron, who had absolutely no problem with homosexuality despite the jokes always pitted against him by Blaise and Pansy, just rolled his eyes.

Stymied, Theo contented himself with taking another sip and then very pointedly dragging his tongue across the rim of his glass, eyes on Harry. Harry snorted, and took it upon himself to splash his own unrepentant boyfriend.

Sometimes Theo and Harry were tolerable to be around and other times they were so fucking in love that Draco could hardly stand it. He threw back his whisky and then levered himself out of the tub, going over the edge directly behind himself rather than wading between Blaise and Ron to use the platform. They hadn’t had the foresight to bring the bottle, nor a wand, so he had to manually get himself another drink.

He left his glass on the stones then padded across the terrace, leaving damp footprints and scattered droplets of water from his wet swim trunks. The kitchen was lively and smelled enticingly of roast chicken and vegetables. They’d gone for a traditional roast dinner, with Hermione focusing her efforts on what looked to be a delectable chocolate cake.

Her back was to him so he snuck up and reached around her to swipe his forefinger into the bowl of icing she was working from. She shrieked and jumped a foot in the air, turning and then instantly whacking his arm.

“Draco!” she chastised. “Merlin, don’t sneak up on a person!”

He grinned, as much as he could while sucking the stolen chocolate icing off his finger. He watched her notice, and didn’t miss the way she drew in a quick breath, nor that her eyes took a longer time than usual rejoining his once she’d dropped them down his abdomen.

He helped himself to another finger of icing, delighted by her reaction.

He wanted to drag the icing down her cheek and lick it off, but thought that would perhaps be rather forward. Instead, he ate the second pilfered gob then left while he was ahead, retrieving the whisky bottle from the sideboard in the living room then nipping back outside with only a quick wink in her direction as he passed.

While her reaction had been rather telling toward something, he couldn’t be sure if it was just a reaction to just his body (he wasn’t so humble as to not know that he looked quite good wet), or him.

He pondered this as he poured another round for everyone, craning down to set the bottle on the terrace when he’d finished, but as usual his thoughts led him to the same conclusion: he had no fucking idea what she felt for him.

After dinner, they once again readied themselves for a drinking game. Blaise and Ron had been suspiciously focused during their quiet time earlier that afternoon and now stood to address the group as a unit.

“Oh Salazar,” said Pansy when she saw them standing at attention, “What have you two done.”

“Hush,” Ron waved a dismissive hand her way. “Blaise and I have devised a new game for our enjoyment this evening.”

“Not instilling a lot of confidence in us with this yet, mate,” laughed Harry.

“Have we ever let you down?” Ron set about organizing a small stack of paper slips on the table in front of him.

Taking this as his cue, Blaise held up a paper bag. Inexplicably, this sent Hermione into a round of giggles though, as she was two ciders in, was already prone to the giggles. As such, Blaise completely ignored her.

“Right. So it’s a relay of sorts. First, we’re playing the bag game, then the body game Ron is preparing, and finally the straight face game.”

This overview only proved to increase the suspicious expression on Pansy’s face and draw out another round of giggles from Hermione.

“I hope you know how unsettling that sentence was,” remarked Theo, then slapped his thighs eagerly. “I can’t wait to get started.”

As it turned out, the bag game was a simple activity to determine who their teammate would be for the subsequent two games, the pairings decided by the order in which people were disqualified.

Blaise tossed the bag in the center of the living room floor and they each took a turn trying to pick it up using only their mouth while ensuring no part of their person touched the ground except their feet. Each success meant that Blaise cleanly sliced an inch off, making the bag shorter and shorter so that every turn was more challenging.

Unsurprisingly, given she was a professional Chaser, the last person standing was Ginny, who performed the impossible feat of deftly lifting only the flat bottom of the bag with a dexterous flick of her tongue and quick teeth, balanced precariously on a single foot with her other leg outstretched for balance. Draco sent a suggestive eyebrow waggle to Pansy at the display of skill, to which she returned her middle finger.

Draco ended up being partnered with Harry, Ron with Theo, Pansy with Blaise, and Hermione with Ginny.

The body game, as unsettling a name as he’d ever heard, turned out to be a laugh. Ron divvied out paper slips upon which he’d written a body part. The teammates then had to keep those body parts touching for the entirety of the straight face game, in which Blaise had provided phrases for them to read while maintaining a perfectly straight face.

Whoever broke, drank.

Whoever removed their assigned body parts, drank.

Thankfully, the parts that he and Harry had to keep in contact were his elbow to Harry’s shoulder. Hermione and Ginny hadn’t been so lucky: they’d gotten ear and chest, meaning that Hermione was now sitting sideways on Ginny’s lap, her ear against Ginny’s chest, for the foreseeable future.

He snorted, watching as she tried to take a drink from her newly full glass of cider without moving her head too far away, so he conjured her a straw. She laughed self-deprecatingly and showed her appreciation by taking an excessively long drink with it.

The prompts Blaise and Ron had come up with ranged from ludicrous to so mild as to be hilarious when one attempted to say them in a straight-faced monotone.

“I really can’t stand November,” said Theo with excessive gravity, but his mouth quirked halfway through the word November and Draco’s elbow was nearly displaced by the ferocity with which Harry pointed and yelled “Break! Break! Drink, Theodore!”

Draco dug his elbow down into Harry’s muscle. “Oi!” he complained. “Stand still!”

Harry solved it by wrapping his hand over Draco’s bicep, holding his arm down against his own shoulder as he yanked them over to his boyfriend to ensure the drink was had. Ron, who held Theo piggy-back style (thereby keeping Ron’s hand on Theo’s knee) darted out of the way with a great show of athleticism, Theo whooping gleefully and sloshing his pint all across the carpet.

Pansy looked deadly serious during all of her prompts, breaking only once the statement had been deemed a success to share her competitive pride with Blaise. That she sat atop his shoulders (scandalously, she’d drawn thigh and he neck) only furthered the hilarity when she said things like, “Mummy, I told you, I don’t want my medicine” with an absolutely ice-cold expression.

Ginny and Hermione were an absolute wreck, each inflicted with the giggles before even the first word was said to the point that they just sat whispering together and cheering raucously whenever someone else broke.

Suffice to say, they were all properly pissed by the time Hermione brought out the cake.

They were enjoying a post-game lull, scattered throughout the living room, kitchen, and terrace. Theo and Ginny, their resident wildlings, had elected to take a starlight soak in the hot tub and could be heard giggling all the way in the kitchen through the open back door. As far as Draco knew, they’d both changed out of their swimwear before dinner so he suspected they were starkers.

Ron, Blaise, Harry, and Pansy were playing a rather tame game of Exploding Snap around the kitchen table, the pace hampered as Ron paused frequently to have bites of cake.

That left Draco and Hermione alone in the living room. She was lying across the sofa, her head in his lap while he toyed idly with her curls and she tested herself on how precisely she could recite potion recipes while inebriated (such was the way her swotty, brilliant, gorgeous brain worked).

“…and then after the powdered moonstone, you stir six times clockwise, then—“

“Seven,” he corrected absently, coiling a strand around his index finger in an almost-meditative motion.

“What?” She looked up at him.

“You stir it seven times. Carry on though, you were doing great.”

She scrunched up her nose in an elaborate expression of confusion. “I’m pretty sure it’s six. You’re thinking of the time it needs to sit before you add the Hellebore. That’s seven minutes.”

He made a soft sound of disagreement. “Mm-mm. It’s seven stirs clockwise, seven stirs counterclockwise, and seven minutes before Hellebore.”

He gathered up a handful of her curls and squeezed, observing how much they compressed when he applied a little force. He could see she was frowning up at him now and worried for a moment that he’d pulled her hair, but of course she was focused the correction.

“Are you sure? I distinctly remember it being six, six, seven.”

He snorted. “Why would it be six, six, seven? Seven is a more magically powerful number. And three sevens even moreso.”

She still looked disbelieving. “Really?”

“I don’t see why I’d make it up.”

Her expression turned bemused. “To fuck with me, obviously.”

He was drunk enough that hearing her say fuck affected him more than it usually did. He was suddenly aware of the precarious placement of her head but again, too drunk to consider actively doing anything about it.

“If I was going to fuck with you, it wouldn’t be about the number of clockwise stirs in a Draught of Peace,” he told her with a playful smirk.

“No?” She looked purely amused now.

“Nope.” Without much thought toward the ramifications — his prefrontal cortex was quite saturated at this point — he swiped his finger through the residual chocolate icing from his plate on the side table and showed her the digit. “I’d probably do this again. Sorry I’m not shirtless this time but I bet you’ll still like it.”

Her eyes widened when she saw the icing but before he could make a production of licking it off his finger, she encircled his wrist and yanked it down. She tilted her chin up, her elegant neck stretched long, so that she could suck his finger into her mouth, her tongue welcoming it in with a hot, wet curl.

The heat and pressure of her mouth had an instant effect in his trousers, his cock bobbing to attention with rather embarrassing enthusiasm, hopeful for similar treatment. For a breathless second he thought perhaps she hadn’t felt it but then she nuzzled her head gently in his lap, eyes mischievous.

“So sensitive,” she teased and he couldn’t hold the rumbling groan. Her eyes glinted with victory and the slow drag of her tongue as she pulled his finger out of her mouth nearly did him in.

She’d never been so overtly sexual with him, her touches usually playful and affectionate but in a way he thought she might be with just about anyone.

But this?

This felt different.

He saw the spark of something in her eye. An inquisitiveness perhaps. Definitely a challenge.

His heart throbbed, pulse flaring to life so fast he felt a little dizzy.

“Hermione,” he began with a tone meant to be warning but which sounded rather pleading.

“Oi, you two!” Ron’s strident voice sliced through the tension, his tall frame filling the archway between the rooms. “We’re starting a round of King’s. Come on.”

Hermione had tilted her head all the way to observe Ron upside down and now leveled her gaze back on Draco. She grinned impishly.

“Want me to sit on your lap while we play? Or will this resolve itself?”

This, obviously, was the thick length of him that she was still casually nuzzling with the side of her head.

And while the thought of her using her body to conceal his arousal practically drove him spare, he knew nothing good would come of it — especially not while she was wearing such a short little dress — as he didn’t think he had the presence of mind to think coherently while sustaining what he knew would be an unflaggable erection.

And despite it all, he didn’t know what she intended by it.

At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if Hermione saw nothing untoward about a little friendly cockwarming.

Fuck.

He needed to stand up before he embarrassed himself further.

“You’re in so much trouble,” he told her as he pushed her up to a sit so he could extricate himself from below her. “I hope you’re ready to pay dearly for your little stunt.”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief and competition. “Bring it on.”

Chapter Text

Hermione wasn’t exactly sure what time it was, only that it was at least some time past midnight as Blaise had led them in a New Years-style countdown just as the hour turned over for no discernible reason other than for his own enjoyment.

Theo had collected Harry to him for a resounding New Years kiss and had attempted to lure others in after until Pansy had shut him down with her full palm over his face.

They played another full round of King’s Cup (Theo had gotten the final King this time, to Ron and Harry’s mutual delight) and then relaxed into general socialization.

She’d been lured by Ginny to take a shot with her and Pansy, an unfortunate thing only because the only liquor on hand was Draco’s horrendous gin or good quality sipping whisky. She’d gone for the latter and the peaty bite to it had burned a scalding trail all the way down to her core, leaving her gasping and warm.

Somewhere along the way, she’d gotten herself back onto Draco’s lap, but he’d quickly found a reason to stand so had lifted her off him almost as soon as she gotten comfortable.

She felt a little bad about having made his body betray him for the second time that weekend, but only because he seemed like he didn’t want her to do anything about it. Nevertheless, the mere fact that’d she’d been able to had filled her with a simmering potency that was making every look he sent her sizzle hotly inside her.

But even though he hadn’t let her sit on his lap again, he wasn’t completely hands-off. Quite the reverse. 

It was that combination of events — the drinking, the touching, the sustained sexual tension — that had them retreating to their room as soon as the party began to disperse.

They stumbled slightly over the threshold, both because the room was darker than the dim hallway and also because someone had left something — a towel? — on the floor.

“Shit,” he swore, teetering slightly but ricocheting off the bureau and somehow ending up vertical.

She snorted, having bumped against the bureau first and deciding to stay there until he made moves to relocate her. The top of the bureau pressed just above the curve of her spine, almost the exact same height of where her dress gave way to bare skin. The wood was cool against her and she pressed herself closer while she watched him find his feet.

He was back in front of her a scant minute later, hands hungry for her shape. His touch was familiar but it was so foreign to be experiencing it in this context, his hands pulling her close to him with a purpose that was markedly not a casual, friendly hug.

His hands had gone rogue sometime after midnight, whatever tether he’d used to restrain himself having snapped when she’d slung her arms around his neck and, for no reason other than she wanted to, licked a hot stripe up his neck. He’d grunted and gripped her and had been all over her ever since.

Now, alone in the dark, she tilted her face up to his, brushing her nose against his in a way she hoped was indicative of what she wanted. It seemed he had the same idea because she didn’t have to wait long at all until his mouth was on hers, the pressure firm and unmistakable.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he groaned against her mouth as he broke their first kiss.

Her head was fuzzy, the world off kilter.

At some point, she must have slipped through to another dimension within the endless fabric of the universe, she thought absently, into one where Draco wanted to kiss her and then actually did so.

She kissed him back, thrilling at the notion that in this reality, she just…could.

He pulled her close, hands on her waist and then one skimming up to squeeze her breast. Normal Draco would never take such liberties so this only furthered her theory that this was Another Draco.

The thought made her giggle and his grip softened. “Sorry. Was that okay?”

“Of course,” she told him, “We can do whatever we want.”

She punctuated this by slipping her hands under his t-shirt, gliding up until she was fake-cupping his pecs. He either missed the joke or perhaps it wasn’t that funny to begin with, because he just pressed himself closer to her and groaned.

His reaction intrigued her, so she did it again and then pulled his shirt up. If he was taking liberties, then so would she.

He got the message, tugging it over his head from behind his neck. His chest was flushed, pink splotches creeping up his neck and darkening his cheeks. Was it from the heat? The drinks?

She dug her fingers into his pecs again, admiring the way they had hardly any give to them. He had a very nice body, she thought, strong and defined but not obscenely muscled like Blaise.

He kissed her again, slanting his mouth over hers.

His tongue tasted like quinine and pine.

She hated gin but thought that if the method of delivery was off of Draco’s tongue, she’d probably quite like it. To test this theory, she caught his tongue with hers and then sucked it into her mouth. His grip on her tightened, his fingers digging almost painfully into her ribs. When she released him, he was panting.

“Shit,” he gasped. “Fuck, Hermione.”

“Did you like that?” She sucked lightly on his bottom lip, then dragged her teeth along it, experimenting.

“So sexy.” He was groaning, hands now digging into the flesh of her arse. “Salazar, I felt that in my cock.”

She giggled at the word, her attention diverting instantly. Other Draco would let her touch his cock, she thought. He wouldn’t let himself get hard and then pull her away, right when she was thinking about doing something about it.

She tested her theory, pulling her right hand from his hair and palming the front of his trousers. At first she thought maybe he wasn’t hard after all, but then slid her hand a few inches to the left and found him.

She’d never felt a cock so hard, stiff to the point that it almost didn’t feel real.

Maybe it wasn’t?

Wouldn’t that just be like Draco to put a fake dick in his trousers to mess with her.

He didn’t stop her when her hands worked his belt open, nor did he do anything but whimper when she got the zip down and pushed her hand in.

Hot.

That was her first impression.

Stiff and hot.

Definitely a real cock.

She’d come this far, so didn’t even hesitate in slipping her hand into his boxer briefs to brush her fingers along him, skin to skin.

“You’re so hot,” she informed him, referring to his temperature.

“So are you,” he grunted. “You’re killin’ me.”

“Oh.” She didn’t want to contribute to how overheated he was. “Sorry. Here.”

She stripped off her dress, the action hampered slightly by an elbow but she sorted herself out quickly.

His hands on her skin was a new sensation.

She’d touched Normal Draco plenty of times on his naked torso – he loved being shirtless for some reason – but he’d never touched her as much as he was now, hands skating up her sides and squeezing her breasts and running down her back in large, eager motions.

But wait.

This wasn’t Normal Draco.

So…maybe he still hadn’t touched her? She was getting confused by that aspect of him, the duality of him, so decided to ignore it.

“That better?” She asked hopefully. She couldn’t remember where her hands had been before getting her dress off, so she wrapped them around his neck.

He bent to kiss her again – maybe she’d pulled him down? – and groaned, “No. Fuck, so much worse,” against her mouth.

“Take your trousers off then,” she suggested.

His stomach was firm against hers, she noticed. Firm but soft.

He was soft from his chest to his cock, and then he was hard.

But still soft. Velvety.

How funny that that word could be used to describe such different things.

He pushed his trousers down, underwear going along for the ride whether he meant to or not, and then he was naked. She was still in her bralette and knickers, but they were insubstantial, frivolous little things that amused her to wear. Lace and practically nothing else.

His cock bounced against her stomach and she remembered she’d been holding it for him. She wrapped her hand back around it and squeezed, enjoying the contrast between the more supple head and the absolute rigidity of his shaft.

No whisky dick for this man. Gin dick?

Her back hit the mattress and she realized he’d walked them to the bed. It felt strange to be horizontal; her inner ear couldn’t quite catch up and for a moment the world’s axis tilted again.

Oh god, what if she slipped back into her normal dimension and Normal Draco found her naked under him? Fuck, he’d be so mad.

She clung to Other Draco until the spinning stopped. He was a comforting presence, grounding her.

“Thank you,” she gasped, when the world stabilized.

“For what?” He was kissing down her throat.

“Tethering me to this dimension.” She tilted her head back to give him more space and then spread her legs further while she was at it, giving him room.

It felt good to be lying down, now that she’d acclimated. The bedding was soft and smelled vaguely of him.

That meant this was their bed. Well, her and Normal Draco’s bed. Maybe he could smell her in it. And wasn’t it strange that one could never smell oneself?

“I don’t know what that means,” he laughed, “but you’re welcome.”

He sucked a mark onto the skin of her collarbone, hard enough that she felt it through the faint tingling that had overtaken her nerve endings, deadening some sensations and heightening others. She felt – actually felt – her nipples tightening in response, the friction against the lace of her bralette tantalizing.

He was still fussing around with her neck so she wove her fingers into the longer locks at the top of his head and tugged him lower.

Other Draco knew exactly what she wanted. His tongue wet the lace of her bralette, right over her nipple, and then closed his teeth around the hard little bud and bit.

It was shocking — electrically; every single one of her nerves were momentarily alight.

“Oh!”

“Good?” He sucked it lightly, tongue soft even through the lace.

“No one’s ever bitten me before,” she marveled.

“I find that hard to believe. You’re so biteable.” He emphasized this statement by lightly nipping at her again, then biting a gentle path along the plushness of her breast and over to the other.

She squirmed under him, the sharpness of his teeth doing unspeakable things to the state of her knickers. He groaned against her skin as her squirming slotted his cock between her legs.

“We can’t have sex,” he told her, somewhat weakening this statement by grinding his erection more firmly against the lacy gusset of her knickers.

She agreed, even if she pressed back against him and rocked her hips, seeking pressure.

It wouldn’t do to have sex with this Other Draco, not when she wanted to have it with Normal Draco, and not while she felt as light and buoyant as she did at the current moment.

Sex would only pin her down, like a moth stuck through on some collectors display.

Tonight she was a creature of action, not a moth.

She was a playful little mink.

She giggled at the image and pushed her hands through his hair. Speaking of mink; Merlin, his hair was soft. Mussed from the long night and all the times he’d pushed it back. Slightly damp with sweat. She loved his hair.

“Better stop doing that then,” she told him mildly, amused, as he ground against her again.

“I know.” He didn’t stop and neither did she, rubbing back against him and observing his reaction to it.

Maybe a playful little mink could still drive the action from below? Perhaps he’d just grind against her and then come across her belly? The thought sent tingles through her, but it was still too passive for her current mood.

She slid a hand down between them and squeezed it around his cock when he next thrust it forward. His hips stuttered and he whimpered.

“Will this help you not have sex with me?” She asked, squeezing again.

“Fuuuuck,” he panted. “Oh god, oh…god.”

It amused her whenever he used Muggle swears, knowing he’d picked them up from her. But as nice as it was to pull blasphemous language from him, she was still dissatisfied with the level of action she was taking.

“Stand up,” she told him, “On your feet. There.” She gestured to the side, her arm flopping a bit. She snorted at herself.

He levered himself off her, swaying slightly as he stood but finding his balance quickly. She was less stable, wobbling on the bouncy mattress as she got to her knees. She gripped his hips to steady herself which put her face to face with his erection.

Hello, beauty, she thought but when he barked a laugh she realized she’d probably said it out loud.

Oh well, no matter. She stood by it: his cock was beautiful, objectively.

She was never one to shy from evidence-based truths.

To prove her point, she leaned down and planted a sweet little kiss on his shaft, flicking her tongue out for a taste. The sound he made, something primal and absolutely wrecked, only encouraged her.

She licked him again, bringing up a hand to hold his cock where she wanted it, and then swept her tongue lazily across his frenulum.

He tasted like Draco, like raw maleness. She felt her body react to his, her cunt vaguely achy as her pulse throbbed lower and lower.

“Hermione,” he was panting. “Hermione, wait.”

She didn’t want to let go of him, not while she finally had some version of him.

“We’re drunk,” he groaned. “We shouldn’t.”

“You don’t want to?”

She couldn’t resist a little squeeze, and then felt badly about using his cock against him. Even in the low light, she could see how tense he was, his jaw tight and nostrils flaring.

“I want to so fucking badly,” he grit out. “That’s the point.”

“So do I,” she assured him.

But she wasn’t so inebriated that her manners had completely vacated the premises, so she gave him a rueful little grimace and relinquished his cock.

Maybe he could give Normal Draco a hint, assuming they somehow communicated across the fabric of space that bound their corporeal forms.

She sighed gustily and flopped back onto her elbows, eyes raking down his body.

“You’ll have to get me some clean knickers before you head off,” she said idly, referring to what she‘d gathered was his imminent departure back to the dimension from whence he’d come. “These are completely ruined. You made me soak them all the way through.”

“Hermione. Fuck.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. She couldn’t tell if it was her vision or not that made him look like he was trembling. “Don’t fucking say things like that to me.”

She tilted her head back until it hung heavily against the nape of her neck, observing him under heavy-lidded eyes. “Sorry. I’m just being honest.”

He sought about for his bag and then tossed her a clean pair of his boxer briefs. “Use those,” he told her, then pulled his trousers back on. “I’m gonna sleep on the couch.”

She flopped down onto her back, exchanged her knickers for his shorts, and then curled up under the covers.

Fine, she thought. Probably for the best. 

Surely Normal Draco would be back in the morning.

Chapter Text

A knock on the door startled her awake.

Her head was pounding and the sudden assault of light made her eyes burn. They’d forgotten to shut the curtains again. Damnit.

“Ugh,” she groaned, hands over her eyes.

She felt the warmth of Draco beside her, still and quiet. Probably still asleep. She heard the door open and remembered that someone had knocked so peeked through her fingers.

It was Draco, wearing his trousers from the night before, shirtless, and holding a glass of water.

Her brain worked to process it. Hadn’t he just been in bed with her a literal second ago? She looked over and saw that, actually, no, she’d been cuddling his pillow.

Oh.

Oh.

The events of the previous night thundered back onto her. They’d hooked up. Or, almost had.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He looked equally apprehensive as he watched it play out on her face. He sighed then approached her, water glass presumably for her.

“We need to talk about last night.”

His tone brokered no disagreement but she was too hungover, vaguely nauseated and her head was pounding. The thought of having to parse her feelings, or worse, try to understand his when he was always so roundabout with them, so subtle and evasive, only made the pounding worse.

Her eyes welled with frustrated tears.

Why had she drunk so much? She hated feeling like this.

And now she had to discuss how she’d probably ruined things between them?

“Can we not?” It came out more brittle than she’d meant it but she supposed she felt rather brittle, so it made sense.

His jaw tightened. He didn’t speak for a moment, then robotically handed her the glass of water. “Get hydrated. I’ll get you a hangover cure.”

He was out of the room before she could even say thank you.

She took a few tentative sips from the glass, not wanting to provoke her stomach towards regurgitation. The water was an elixir, cool and smooth against her throat.

With regret, she realized she hadn’t brushed her teeth the night before, a sensation that made her feel twice as dirty when she ran her tongue over them. She carefully got out of bed and rectified the situation.

Draco found her there, sitting on the edge of the tub with her mouth full of toothpaste suds, still wearing his underwear and her lacy bralette, hair a mess. She didn’t have it in her to feel self-concious.

He set a small vial down on the bathroom counter then leaned against it, arms crossed. He kept clenching his jaw, particularly when his eyes dragged over what she was wearing. She’d always gotten a sense that he was secretly quite a possessive person so wondered what the sight of her in his clothes did to him.

She banished the thought, frustrated anew. This was Normal Draco again, not the simulacrum from the night before. It probably did nothing to him beyond annoy him that he was now one pair of clean undershorts poorer.

She stood and rinsed her mouth, then threw back the hangover cure and let it slowly sizzle along her nerves, brushing off the detritus and fully rousing her.

“I’m sorry,” she offered, when she felt she could. “I didn’t mean to snap at you earlier.”

He relaxed incrementally but didn’t change his posture, arms still crossed protectively over his chest. “It’s alright. I woke up feeling like shit too.”

She piled her hair into a bun then turned on the tap and washed her face, not waiting for the water to warm. The cold felt like an icy slap and she savored it. She dried off, observing him in her peripheral vision.

“And I’m sorry if I took things too far.”

Now that her headache had abated, she knew she had to properly address her behavior. The last thing she wanted was it hanging over them, unaired and heavy, weighing their friendship down.

“Hermione.” He paused, exhaling.

She barreled on before he could finish the thought. “No, please don’t excuse my behavior. I know I can be a bit…well, aggressive, when I get in my head about something. And I know you don’t usually want me in that way, so I’m sorry for anything I did to confuse things for you for us to have…well…taken things so far.”

His expression was unreadable. “I don’t want you in what way?”

Merlin forbid he just accept her apology, she thought.

“That way.” She emphasized it with a nod of her head toward the bed. He didn’t follow her gaze, eyes intent on hers, but she knew he’d understood what she meant.

“Why would you think that?”

She didn’t appreciate him interrogating her, especially in that detached, analytical tone.

“Every interaction we’ve ever had?” She suggested, rather snippily. “And perhaps that you told me you didn’t?”

He opened his mouth, evidently to ask another pointed question, but she cut him off.

“It’s fine,” she said. “Don’t make this more than it is.”

His expression darkened. “So I’m trying to make it more than it is and don’t want anything from you? Right. That clears it up. Thanks.”

She made a frustrated sound. “Don’t—I don’t…that’s the problem. I…” She petered off, not sure how to express it.

He clenched his jaw, eyes fixing on a point over her right shoulder. She thought he was possibly holding his breath, the theory confirmed when he let it out in a slow, controlled exhale through his nose.

“You’re not in the right headspace for this discussion. Get dressed. I’m going to make you breakfast. Come to the kitchen when you’re ready.”

She didn’t think she could stomach a single bite but his tone hadn’t been asking, so she simply nodded.

He left her to it.

She got her bag and then stripped off, stepping into the shower stall for a rejuvenating wash before dressing simply in jeans and a shirt.

She walked with growing trepidation toward the kitchen, suddenly worried about who else might be awake. If Pansy was in there, she was likely about to be eviscerated.

By some miracle, it was only Draco and Theo in the kitchen when she entered.

The former spared her only a quick glance before continuing to spread jam on a piece of toast. Her heart constricted tightly in her chest that he not only knew the only food she could ever manage after a night of over-indulging, but that he was still preparing it for her while obviously upset with her.

Theo was seated at the table, eyes watchful. Knowing. She wondered how much of a fool she’d made of herself in front of them all.

“Morning, love,” Theo said softly. “Coffee?”

He held up his mug and she gratefully went over for a sip.

“Where is everyone?” she asked, handing back his mug.

“Sleeping. It’s only just after ten.”

“Oh.” She wrung her hands, glancing at Draco’s back. He’d found a shirt somewhere, though it wasn’t his. Probably Theo’s, if everyone else was still abed.

She turned back to the dark-haired man and found his eyes already on hers. He looked thoughtful, and like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if he could. As he was Draco’s closest male friend, she was both desperate and terrified to know what it was. She almost asked, but then Draco was beside her.

“Come on,” he said, holding out the toast to her. “Let’s go for a walk.”

She didn’t really feel up for exercise but the lure of fresh air, of a little space, had her nodding. “Okay.”

She took the proffered toast and then sent Theo a flat-lipped grimace of farewell. She was fairly certain whatever form of her that would be returning to this house would not be the same.

Draco opened the door for her and she stepped past him meekly into the mid morning sun. The open air had an immediately restorative effect and she breathed in a lungful.

“There’s a little path over here,” he said with a nod toward the field, perhaps noticing for the first time that neither of them were wearing shoes. “Softer than the road.”

She nodded and followed after him. They walked in weighted silence until he’d found the path, wide enough that they could meander side by side. He ran his hand over the tall grass the bordered the trampled-down path, his pale, graceful fingers playing along the stalks not unlike Ginny’s had in the water.

She’d miss his hands.

She glanced down at the toast he’d made her, then had to look away.

She felt sick.

And not from the brain-pickling amount of alcohol.

The path wove into the little copse of trees halfway down the slope of the hill and he pulled them up short as soon as the first shadow of a bough touched them. He’d obviously been rehearsing what he wanted to say because he came right out with it, an earnestness to him that she hadn’t seen before.

“I want to start by apologizing for not stopping things sooner last night. You’ve already apologized so please don’t say it again. And I want to clear up some…misconceptions you seem to have.”

Her stomach twisted painfully.

She tried not to recall all the things she’s done and — Merlin — said to him when she’d thought he was some second version of himself. She was never drinking again, she resolved, if that’s how inventive her brain was when no supervisor was around.

“It’s really okay,” she insisted. “I understand.”

He assessed her. “I really don’t think you do.”

She shook her head gamely. “No, no, I do. You like me as a person, but just not your person.”

He furrowed his brow. “What? No. Just listen, Granger—“

Uh oh, surname.

“Actually if it’s all the same to you, I’m not sure I can hear you say it, so let’s just—“

He raised his voice slightly to talk over her. “Listen, I—“

She couldn’t.

“It’s really fine. We’re friends. You like me the way we’ve been and—“

“I don’t like you, I’m fucking in love with you,” he finally yelled.

She froze.

He took a heaving breath then ran his hands down his face, then up into his hair. “Sorry. I didn’t intend to shout that at you. Although in retrospect, maybe I should’ve. You’ve been rather dense to my more subtle methods.”

The accusation restarted her brain. “Dense?”

He interlaced his hands behind his head. “Unbelievably.”

She scoffed. “You’ve never once indicated that you liked me like that.”

His jaw literally dropped, as did his hands. He was the very image of bafflement. “What? I…I touch you, constantly. I pick you first for everything. We go to dinner. And breakfast! We talk practically every day. We cuddle! I hold your damn hand!”

He’d worked himself up again, his expression a distraught thing built of confusion and exasperation and frustration. She empathized.

“But that’s how you’ve always been toward me!”

He stared at her, speechless. Then, softly, “Are you still not getting it?”

She hated not understanding. She hugged her arms around herself protectively and huffed a frustrated breath. “I suppose I’m being dense again.”

He carded a hand roughly through his hair, looking down the path. With a more measured voice, he said, “I feel like an idiot for having to explain it to you.”

She winced. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was small.

He gave her a rueful smile. “It’s not something you need to apologize for. I suppose should have figured out by now that if you were interested in me, you’d have seen my actions for what they were. I…” He cleared his throat to ease the sudden roughness of it. “I understand now that that’s not how you see me. I won’t misconstrue your actions again.”

She was bewildered.

When she didn’t reply, he sucked his canine and then nodded. “Right. I think I’ll walk a bit more, but you should go back. I’m sure the others are waking up by now.”

Her thoughts were sluggish, the toast all but forgotten as it dangled from her fingertips.

He looked…sad?

No. He looked defeated.

But before she could properly sort it all out, he was walking past her without another word.

Chapter Text

Her brain, whatever was left of it, finally registered his words.

He thought she didn’t like him?

That she didn’t love him?

She was a smart woman — she’d always been told as much and straight-Os were hard to refute — but she was beginning to see that she was woefully uneducated when it came to matters of the heart.

Or, more accurately, matters of the hypothalamus. But, well, that pedantic correction rather proved her point, didn’t it?

She’d never had a misinterpretation of this magnitude before; never in her entire life had she gotten something so, so wrong.

And he’d taken her confusion as rejection.

Unacceptable.

She reached out and caught his wrist. “Draco.”

His name seemed painful to hear, given that he flinched. Unthinkingly, she said it again, and then winced in apology. “Draco. Wait. You’re not…wait.”

“Please, Hermione.” He didn’t turn to face her. He sounded wobbly. “Just let me sort myself out for a minute.”

She almost let him, if it would help him, but then thought better of it. He’d misunderstood so disastrously. She couldn’t let him go on thinking it for a single second longer.

“No. No, listen.”

But then she couldn’t find the right way to say it, couldn’t summon even an ounce of the traits the Sorting Hat had so efficiently pinpointed within her.

So she shut off her brain, and stepped around to face him, and kissed him.

For a terrifying moment, he didn’t move.

And then his hand was cupping the back of her head and he was kissing her, properly. Rather desperately, actually. She leaned into him, up on her toes to wind her arms securely around his neck, so tightly she could touch her opposite elbows. His arms banded just as tightly around her waist, holding her close.

He grounded her, as he always did, and the words came easily when she spoke them against his mouth.

“I love you. Romantically. Intellectually. Emotionally. I love you every way I know how to. I just…hadn’t realized.” She half-sobbed the last, the reality of it suddenly overwhelming.

He drew back slightly, arms shifting to bring his hands up to her face. His palms were gentle on her cheeks, his thumbs stroking under her eyes though she wasn’t sure she was actually crying.

But then the faint breeze danced past them and her skin felt cooler there, so she supposed she probably was.

“Will you say it again?” He asked, voice hushed.

She brought her gaze up from his mouth to his eyes. They had a glassy quality to them that hinted at restrained tears, but what captivated her more was the way he was looking at her. The adoration in his gaze, the warmth and raw, unadulterated hope, was so enthralling that she didn’t realize she’d stopped breathing until her lungs ached.

She drew in a shuddering breath. Let it out.

“I’m in love with you, Draco,” she said, voice unwavering. Certain.

For a minute she thought he might finally lose the battle against his tears but then his face broke into a smile, and he laughed, a disbelieving, joyful sound.

“I’ve waited so long to hear you say that. Merlin.”

“I’ll tell you every day,” she promised, and kissed him again.

They walked back to the house some time later, fingers intertwined and lips tender from kissing. He’d only managed to convince her to head back by whinging about how hungry he was, and she’d finally relented.

She had her appetite back, too, but had left her toast where it’d fallen by their feet. The birds could have it.

“You said something last night that has been running through my mind all day, and I’ve got to ask you about it,” he said as they walked slowly up the path.

She groaned self-deprecatingly. “Oh Merlin. Let me guess. Was it when I told you that you’d made me ruin my knickers?”

He smirked. “No. That I fucking loved, and I don’t have any questions about.”

She rolled her eyes at his smug expression, then braced herself, trying to recount all the rather unhinged things she’d blurted. Mercifully, he carried on before she could go too far down the rabbit hole.

“You thanked me for ‘tethering you to this dimension’. Care to explain what that meant?” He was grinning down at her, bemused and boyish.

Gods, she loved him so much.

“I’m…not sure I can,” she laughed. “Let’s just say that I was so in my head about it all that the only way I could rationalize you wanting me that way was through a metaphysical impossibility.”

He shook his head, mystified. “How did we get our signals so crossed? It’s almost unhealthy, the amount I want you.”

She tugged him to a stop, pulling him around to face her directly. “In the interest of fully uncrossing our signals,” she began, reaching for his other hand and interlacing her fingers through it too. “When you say want, what do you mean?”

He smirked. “How explicit do you want me to be?”

She clucked her tongue. “Behave. You know what I’m asking.”

He squeezed her hands, expression sobering. “I do. I’d simplify it as everything but I expect that’s not clear enough for you. I want to share my life with you. Be your partner or boyfriend or whatever you want to call me, I don’t mind. I want to do everything we already do, but also wake up with you as often as I can. And go to bed with you even more often.” He couldn’t hold back on the teasing glint in his eye.

She’d started nodding halfway through his speech. “Yes. Good. That’s what I want, too.”

He smiled, radiant in the sunshine. “Alright then.”

His kiss was slower this time, just pressure at first and then a luxurious, decadent sweep of his tongue.

It felt like a promise.

A claiming.

She tried to keep her wits about her but it seemed his exact goal was to rid her of them, and he was relentless in his pursuit of it. When she whimpered into his mouth, he finally released her.

His expression was heated, cheeks flushed the barest pink from his arousal.

She wanted him so badly it hurt.

“Come on,” she whispered. “Let’s go back to our room.”

His eyes glittered with promise but he didn’t divert her further, keeping a firm grip on one hand and setting a more expeditious pace. When they reached the house, he held the back door for her then followed her inside.

Theo was still sitting where they’d left him, but Harry was now beside him and they each had an empty plate in front of them. Ron was across the table, plate half full. Pansy and Blaise were standing in the kitchen with Ginny sitting up on the counter.

Their entry garnered a mixed reception.

Theo looked on edge, eyes darting from their joined hands to her face and then Draco’s.

“All good, mate,” Draco told him and Theo slumped back in his chair, relief evident on his face.

“What’s going on?” asked Ron through a mouthful of eggs, eying Theo’s dramatic reaction and then flicking his attention to them.

Pansy’s gaze had followed the similar route that Theo’s had but now stayed locked on Hermione’s.

“Excellent question, Ronald,” she said, tilting her head rather preditorially. “Hermione? Care to enlighten us?”

Hermione angled her head to look up at Draco, the heady delight in saying the words overtaking any self-consciousness. “Draco and I are officially together. And we love each other.”

He gazed down at her, so pleased and adoring she thought she’d combust. She needed to get him alone immediately.

But before she could tug him away, Ginny squealed and leapt down to hug Hermione around the neck, rocking her back and forth in a manner that, had she not consumed a hangover cure, would have made her quite ill.

“Oh, I’m so happy for you!” She released Hermione and then hugged Draco, arms around his middle. “Both of you!”

Draco patted Ginny’s head with his free hand, laughing. “Thanks Ginny.”

“Hang on,” Ron looked perplexed. “I thought this was already a thing. Why is everyone making a big deal about it?”

Hermione’s brows flickered down in a quick expression of confusion. “No, until an hour ago I was completely ignorant to how he felt. Draco had contented himself to wait until I was ready. But then I, er, rather forced his hand.”

When Ron still looked nonplussed she asked, “Why did you think we were already a thing?”

Ron’s expression shifted to bemused. “In case you forgot, we did actually date once. And you didn’t show me half the PDA you do to him.” He shrugged and lifted his mug, punctuating his statement with a glug. “It’s so obvious you’re into him. I thought you’d been dating for like, half a year at this point.”

Silence befell this unexpectedly astute observation. Ron forked another bite, unfazed.

“So how did it happen?” asked Ginny. “Drunken confessions?”

Hermione felt Draco shift slightly to wrap his arms around her from behind. At first she thought it was just a show of affection, until she felt a rather telling bulge against the base of her spine. Evidently he was remembering their drunken activities.

Now that her concerns about having pushed him too far had proved to be unfounded, she was quite eager to reenact several key elements of the night before.

Specifically, properly introducing his cock to her mouth.

She reigned herself in to reply to Ginny but couldn’t help pressing herself back against Draco rather pointedly. He pinched her side in punishment but didn’t let her go.

“Pansy put the idea in my head that Draco and I weren’t as platonic as I’d always thought, and then I couldn’t unthink it. I suppose it all came to a head last night, in a manner of speaking.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow, tone salacious. “Did it? In what manner exactly?”

“Shut up, Blaise,” suggested Draco lightly. The man laughed.

“A little matchmaker, were you, Pans?” grinned Ginny, sending a wink the petite witch’s way.

Hermione snorted. “Not so much matchmaking as it was turning the gas burners on and lighting a candle in the next room. A slow but assured explosion without any clear culpability.”

Pansy flicked an eyebrow appreciatively. “It’s always nice to have one’s work complimented. Ta, Hermione.”

She rolled her eyes but let her have it.

“Well, it’s definitely about time,” Harry told her with a smile. “Theo and I might’ve had a running bet on when you’d come to your senses. So thanks for realizing before the autumn because this means I won.”

“Considering the prize is giving you a blowjob, I don’t exactly feel like I’ve lost.” Theo did something under the table that made Harry jump and then smack him. It didn’t take a big leap to guess what.

Ginny snorted and Pansy tutted with mock-disapproval at their display.

“Boys,” she chided. “Not where I eat.”

“Didn’t realize you’d claimed the whole kitchen, Parkinson,” Theo retorted with an innocent expression.

“Boor,” she accused primly.

Hermione felt she was missing something given the way their capricious friend’s expression shifted from innocent to wickedly knowing. But before she could inquire, that expression turned her way. Theo made a shooing motion.

“Go on,” he said, “Go consummate your love and then come back when you can behave. You’re even less subtle now than you usually are.”

She almost argued, purely for the sport of it, but Theo had a point. Draco’s hands had been on pursuit for skin since he’d pulled her against him and his fingers were currently skimming across her belly under her shirt. And while she wasn’t exactly against a little light exhibitionism, she rather thought their first time would be best kept private.

She leaned her head back against his chest, tilting it back so she could look up at him. “What do you say?” she asked him casually, “Want to go make things official?”

Draco flicked a brow. “If you insist.” But his eyes were practically burning through her.

“Merlin and Morgana, they’re going to be intolerable now that they know all their public affection is just foreplay,” Pansy griped as they slipped through the archway toward the bedrooms.

Chapter Text

Her hands were on him even before he’d kicked the bedroom door shut behind them. His shirt was off as soon as he’d caught up enough to help her strip it off and then her fingers were working his trousers open.

“There’s no rush,” he told her, though he was already breathing heavily. “We don’t need to go so fast.”

She pulled back to look at him. “If I’m understanding you correctly — and please, please tell me right away in extremely clear English if I’m not — then you’ve been courting me for the better part of a year.”

He smiled. “That’s correct.”

She nodded. “Okay. Excellent. Well, then I think if anything, I’m taking things too slow.”

He laughed and let her push his trousers down, kicking them off and then crowding her back against the door.

“I should’ve known you’d be a bossy little thing even in bed,” he told her, bending to nip at her neck.

“I’m good at taking instructions, too,” she assured him on a breath.

“I bet you are.” He tugged her shirt off. “Always such a good, obedient girl, weren’t you?”

“Only when properly incentivized.” She pulled him back down for another kiss.

“Yeah? Want to earn your O, do you?”

She laughed against his smiling mouth.
“You jest, but…” She trailed off meaningfully. She found a great deal of pleasure from knowing she was pleasing her partner. Who didn’t?

“Oh, you’re gonna be fun, aren’t you?” He nipped at her bottom lip then sucked it lightly into his mouth.

Her hands dropped to his boxer briefs almost instantly.

He groaned as her fingers brushed the bare skin just above the waistband. “Eager?”

“I do want your cock quite badly, yes,” she informed him, fingers dipping below the waistband.

She felt his smirk against her mouth. “Believe it or not, but I did cotton on to that much. I think the third time you very deliberately got me hard tipped me off. Or maybe when you called it beautiful.”

She saw no reason to deny it. “It is beautiful. It’s the most gorgeous cock I’ve ever seen.”

His eyes were heavy on her, darkening as his pupils swelled. “You have such a filthy mouth, Hermione.”

She scoffed, but was pleased. “You haven’t seen anything yet. Now, may I proceed?”

He licked his bottom lip, teeth catching it on the way into his mouth. “Fuck yeah, baby. Go ahead. Show me how badly you want my cock.”

The endearment warmed her, in her chest and between her legs, almost as much as his dirty words.

She let her head drop back against the door so she could hold his eyes as she slipped her hands into his underwear, finding his cock instantly and curling her fingers around the middle of his shaft.

He felt just as stiff and hot as she remembered.

His eyelids sank halfway as she applied experimental pressure, twisting her fist in a slow rotation as she did. When his eyes fluttered on a low groan, she grinned victoriously.

“Mmm,” she hummed, “That feels good, doesn’t it?”

His hips stuttered, driving his cock a few inches further into her fist until her curled hand was flush against his body. She used her forefinger to rub a small, teasing circle at the base before dragging it down to stroke the top of his sac.

His body was hot, in every sense of the word. Just being near to him was making her perspire, the heat radiating off him as she tightened her fist ever so slightly and then released him.

He whimpered, forehead falling against hers. “Circe,” he panted. “You might actually kill me.”

She bit the corner of her lip to quell a pleased smile then pushed one hand against his right hipbone while the other pulled, indicating she wanted him to rotate them. She’d have simply turned them herself except that he was almost crushing her against the door. He got the message and let her push him back against the wood.

His head thunked back, watching her from under half-lidded eyes, as she kissed her way slowly down his chest. When she sank to her knees, he groaned.

“Hermione.”

“Hmm?” She tucked her fingers under the waistband of his boxer briefs, looking up at him inquisitively. When he did nothing but stare, transfixed, at her, she figured the address had been of the reverent variety and carried on.

She tugged his underwear down, leaning back slightly when his cock sprang free so that she didn’t get a faceful before she was ready. She left his briefs halfway down his thighs, because she liked it, hands resting just above them.

She ran her eyes along his length, just a gorgeous as she remembered. More so, in fact, now that she had all her faculties and the lighting wasn’t so dim.

He was proudly built, thick and straight and just the right length to have her squeezing her thighs together as she felt the premonitory twinge of him striking deep.

He was perfect for her.

She glanced up at him. “My mouth is watering.”

His jaw clenched so tightly she could see the muscle straining. When she dragged the barest tip of her tongue up the throbbing vein, his whole body jerked.

“You really are so wonderfully sensitive,” she told him. “I can’t wait to see how desperate you get right before you come."

“Fucking hell.” He was flushed, chest heaving. “You’re not gonna have to wait long, baby. Your little mouth is driving me fucking crazy.”

She kissed his cockhead, soft and open mouthed. “Good.”

Then she popped just the tip into her mouth, sucking wetly.

“Fuck, Hermione,” he grit out. “Jesusfuckingchrist.”

Oh. That was a new one, she thought, as a potent shot of unfiltered desire buzzed through her at the sound of the Muggle curse on his tongue.

Leave it to her to have a thing about corrupting a Pureblood.

She ran her tongue down the underside from crown to root, then back up, wetting her way. She squeezed her hands where they rested on his thighs in warning, and then took him into her mouth. His guttural groan encouraged her to slide down as far as she naturally could, which was only about two-thirds. She’d work up to more with time, she thought confidently. Surely he wouldn’t mind letting her practice on him.

She laved her tongue slowly back and forth along the underside then added gentle suction and drew back. She felt his thighs clench under her hands.

She was only able to repeat the circuit thrice more until his hand was tightening in her hair.

“That’s enough,” he groaned, tugging her off him. “Circe, you got me so close. I don’t want to come yet.”

He took a ragged breath and then gently pulled her up. “Get on the bed.”

She didn’t think to argue, her own arousal throbbing through her rather urgently. She’d never needed to come quite so badly. His reactions to her were exquisite, feeding her need to please like no one else she’d ever been with.

That she loved him just added another heap of kindling to the bonfire that was already raging within her.

She pulled off her bra and flopped gracelessly onto her back, hands busy tugging her zip down so she could strip her jeans off. He helped tug them down her legs and then pulled her toward him with strong hands behind her knees. She squealed, his assertive handling of her body turning her molten.

He sank down to his knees on the floor and pressed her thighs open with his shoulders, leaning forward to lave his tongue across her navel in a tease of what was to come. He kissed his way down to the waistband of her knickers and she shifted her hips, anticipatory nerves flooding through her.

She bit her lip. “No one’s ever…”

His forehead thunked against her pelvis, nose centimeters from her covered clit. “I know. Fuck, I know. I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to drop to my knees for you right then and there.”

She squirmed again, feeling how damp her knickers were now that her jeans weren’t keeping the cooler air of the room at bay.

“Never been bitten. Never been eaten.” He made a low, hungry sound. “I’m going to devour you.”

She stopped him with a hand in his hair, even though her hips canted up as her cunt clenched so tightly she gasped.

He met her eyes from just below her navel.
“You gonna deny me, Granger? After you sucked my cock like a fucking goddess?”

“Of course not. Just…” She groaned as he dipped his head and his soft hair tickled her thighs, nerves alert to his location. “Please. I can’t wait. Not this time.”

He hummed a contemplative sound against her pelvis then looked back up, grin wicked. “Perhaps you should wait. Shall we say a minute for every day I’ve had to? Hmm?”

She whined. “Draco.”

“Or maybe I’ll make you come that many times. Want to keep count?”

He was driving her wild, that silver tongue of his winding up all the secret little places inside her until she felt like she’d scream or cry or beg if he didn’t fuck her soon. She felt quivery and needy, and so so wet.

She tugged on his hair, hard, and he groaned.
“Be patient, love.” He pulled back to line her abdomen with fleeting little kisses. His pace was glacial, his attention on her excruciatingly careful.

Beg it was.

“We can go slow next time. Please, Draco. Please, come here. I need you to fuck me. So…so badly.”

He looked up as he inhaled, nostrils flaring. “Yeah? How?”

She squirmed. “However you want. Just soon, please. I feel like I’ve been on edge for hours.”

“Yeah? You’ve been wanting me?” He smirked at her, almost derisive but not mean. “I can’t imagine what that’s been like.”

She couldn’t hold her petulant whine and then was glad she hadn’t tried very hard when his eyes lit and he crawled up the length of her body to hover over her on hands and knees.

“Needy,” he accused lowly. “Make that sound again for me and I’ll think about fucking you.”

He wanted to play? Fine. More than fine.

She lifted her chin in a show of stubbornness. “Make me.”

His eyes flared, excited, then tracked down her body with hungry intent. She felt his gaze snag on her breasts and tempered her victory so that he wouldn’t see how she’d played him.

He flicked his eyes up to hers, then lowered down and flicked his tongue along a tight nipple. She let out a shuddery breath, but that was it.

He quirked an eyebrow then licked her again before drawing the rosy bud into his mouth and sucking softly. She panted a bit at the sensation but held out for more.

With a knowing expression, he gave it to her. His teeth closed around her nipple, gently rolling it back and forth in warning, before he bit down and then sucked, hard.

She didn’t even have to manufacture it — he tore the sound out of her, entirely beyond her control.

“You sure I can’t make you come first?” He groaned. “I’m not gonna last as long as you deserve. Not right now.”

She pulled him up then tugged him down so she could kiss him.

“There’s no pressure to. You can always make me come after but,” she arched up under him, grazing the front of her knickers against his cock where it hung heavy between them, “I’m pretty sure it’ll only take me a minute once you’re inside me.”

He dropped his hips down against hers to give her a proper grind and she keened at the friction.

“Definitely…definitely not gonna take long,” she gasped.

“I’ll race you,” he joked hoarsely then pushed back onto his knees between her spread thighs.

“Take your knickers off,” he told her, then worked his mouth and let a tendril of saliva drip into his palm, slicking it along his cock. She was more than wet enough to take him but the visual was so spine-tingling that she couldn’t do anything but try and get a breath in her.
He huffed a laugh at her likely gobsmacked expression.

“C’mon, love. Can’t fuck you with your knickers on.”

“Sure you could,” she breathed absently but then refocused and tugged them down, lifting her bum to slide them under and then, in a moment of inspiration, raised her legs to rest her ankles delicately against one of his shoulders to strip the lacy material all the way up.

He looked down the length of her legs appreciatively, then wrapped a hand around her ankles, holding them where she’d placed them.

“Want it like this?”

“Gods yes,” she breathed. “But another time. You’re too far away.”

He pressed a kiss to her ankle then pulled her legs apart so he could fit himself between her thighs, dropping down onto his elbows over her.
“Like this?”

“Yes.” She kissed him and he reached down to align himself with a few probing presses. Her inner muscles tensed in anticipation, the brush of him against her most intimate place sending her heart racing.

“I love you,” she whispered as he pressed inside.

He made a soft little sound, then kissed her as he slowly sank deeper.

“I love you.” He pressed the words into her lips, then her cheek, her ear. “I love you. I love you.”

Face buried in the crook of her neck, he bottomed out. The stretch of him felt intense, her walls already tightening against the pressure of him. He breathed shakily against her, warming her skin, then dropped a peck to her shoulder. “Okay, love?”

“Perfect.”

He pulled out halfway and her body tried to keep him inside, squeezing instinctively.

“Circe. You feel incredible.”

“You too.” The drag of him had her keening, and when he pressed back inside, the care of it, the veneration, had tears pricking at her eyes.

He made one more slow pass within her and then raised up onto his hands and undulated his hips on the next thrust. The motion pressed his cockhead along her front wall on the upstroke and her jaw went slack.

Oh. He was good.

“How’s that?”

“Do that again. Don’t fucking stop.”

The sensation had snapped her from her sentimentality, driving a red-hot sprike of desire straight through her. She sent a hand between them to stroke her clit, the first touch of her fingers doubling her pleasure in a way that had her eyes squeezing shut.

She really was so bloody close.

When one of his thrusts had just a touch more force than the others — his pelvis slanting her fingertips even harder against her clit for a sudden, inflammatory second — she gasped.

And suddenly her orgasm was right on top of her.

“C-coming,” she whimpered, her hips arching up off the mattress to keep him as deep inside her as possible, her walls squeezing around him so tightly her breath got caught on an inhale, the lack of oxygen making her vaguely dizzy until the tension gave way to rhythmic contraction and she could draw in a full, ragged breath.

“Oh, good girl,” he groaned. “Good fucking girl, coming so fast. Fuck. Fuck.”

His hips pounded against her without finesse and then he was groaning, and trembling, and coming inside her.

She felt like magma.

Like the first split atom.

Like the reverberations of a plucked harp string.

It was eruptive. Radiating. Lingering.

They lay together in the aftermath, collecting themselves. After a moment, he rolled off her and onto his back, pushing his hands up into his hair and then dropping them onto the pillow above his head, spent.

“I’m usually more adept,” he said, catching his breath. “Next time, I’ll be better.”

She craned her head to look at him, genuinely confused. “You’re not actually trying to reassure me, are you? Because I just came in less than three minutes, which is my fastest ever with a partner. By a large margin.”

He huffed a laugh. “When you put it like that, I feel better. But you had to rub your own clit. Normally I’m a more proficient multitasker.”

He was something else.

She rolled half on top of him, leaning up with her forearms on his chest so she could peer down at him.

“You’re an excellent fucking lover, Draco Malfoy. I’ll let you get me off all on your own next time, okay? But don’t think for a minute that you didn’t just blow my mind.”

His sheepish expression faded back into undiluted male smugness, a look she was familiar with on him. 

“Alright, alright. If you insist.”

She whacked him, grinning.

She loved him so much.

Chapter Text

She hummed a contented noise and then slid off him, onto her back, and then up to a sit at the edge of the bed. She found her wand and cast a quick contraceptive charm.

He winced, chagrined. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I assumed you were on the potion but even so, I should’ve asked.”

She smiled over her shoulder at him, bemused. “It’s alright. Not sure you had the presence of mind to confirm in the moment. And anyway I would’ve told you if I didn’t want you to come inside me.”

She stood and located her knickers. He had to swallow, quite forcibly, as he watched her collect the rest of her clothing, naked and utterly unself-conscious about it. It filled him with a surge of satisfied pride that he’d done a good enough job showing her how sexy he found her that she didn’t feel the need to hide her body from him.

“I’ve never really needed the consistent protection of the potion but I’ll start taking it now.” She said it casually, almost talking to herself, taking it as a given that she’d now need more consistent protection.

He felt quite encouraged by the double implications of that statement.

When they returned to the kitchen a few minutes later — he’d been hungry before but was properly starving now — they saw that Pansy had joined Theo and Harry at the table. Though while they were seated properly, she was leaning back in her chair with her delicate ankles crossed demurely on the table top, sipping tea primly. Such was the duality of Pansy’s respect for how she’d been raised.

Theo checked his watch very pointedly then tutted at Draco. “You’re lucky she already loves you if that’s the sort of performance she’s in for,” he said dryly.

Before he could defend himself, Hermione spoke. “Be nice, Theodore. It was passionate and perfect. And extremely fulfilling.”

“Uh oh, full name,” Theo stage-whispered to Harry, “I’m in trouble now.”

“He’s just teasing, Hermione.” Pansy grinned lasciviously. “We heard exactly how fulfilling you found it.”

For her part, Hermione just raised her brows indifferently. “It was your choice to linger around. It’s not like we’d snuck off to shag in secret.”

Always charmed by a little pushback, Pansy just smirked.

Harry raised his hand. “Just for the record, I did try to leave but Theo said it wasn’t supportive so forced me to stay.”

“Oh, you little tattletale,” Theo hissed. Harry shot him a shit-eating grin.

Hermione snorted, walking to the coffee pot and pulling down a mug to fill. Draco shook his head, amused, noticing the absence of the Weasleys and Blaise.

“Where're the others, then?” he asked, accepting the mug from Hermione and taking a sip.

“The Zabini-Weasley cohort had business in town,” responded Pansy, watching Hermione reclaim the mug from his hands to take her own sip, something bizarrely close to fondness gracing her delicate features. It was gone just as quickly. “They said they’d be back in an hour or so, which they better be because we have to be out of here by noon and if I have to text Caroline for a late departure, there will be hell to pay.”

“Don’t worry Miss Manners, they’ll be back.” Theo stood, stretching his arms overhead and flashing a strip of toned abdomen in the process, drawing an appreciative glance from Harry and a disapproving cluck from Pansy.

“I may be new to common courtesy but I understand the rules of social etiquette, Theodore.”

He grinned. “Says the witch with her legs up. Tut-tut, Pans. Not very ladylike at all.”

Harry, ever the peace-keeper, stood before Pansy could retaliate, gathering the dishes from the table. “Theo and I will pack up in here, Pans. Go take a shower or…whatever you want.”

Pansy flicked her eyes to Harry, eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion before she sniffed and gracefully slid her legs down.

“Thank you, Harry,” she said, standing. “I’m glad I know at least one male with some respect.”

“Oi,” objected Draco.

Pansy patted his cheek on her way past. “I did say at least one, Draco. Don’t be sensitive.”

Hermione made an amused sound and he cut his eyes to her. She arranged her face into an expression of extreme seriousness though couldn’t quite quell the laughter in her eyes.

“Don’t listen to her, darling. I rather like how sensitive you are,” she told him.

“TMI, Hermione,” Harry muttered as he walked by her to stack the breakfast dishes in the sink, turning on the tap so he could spell them to clean themselves.

She ignored him to lift up on her toes and press a quick kiss to Draco’s lips. When she went to sit at the table, Draco saw that Theo was smiling at him with a rather annoyingly tender look in his eyes.

The git was too soft for his own good, Draco thought, but then had to turn to fill his own mug with coffee when he couldn’t quite pretend it didn’t affect him a bit to see his friend so chuffed for him.

Blaise, Ginny, and Ron did indeed return within the hour and when they’d all packed their bags (with magic) and then the cars (unfortunately manually, lest a Muggle walk by), they were on their way.

Upon arrival back in Oxford, Hermione parked the car just down the street from her flat, locking it with a little chirp from the key fob. Ginny and Pansy used her Floo to head home, and then it was just the two of them standing in her living room.

It was foolish of him to feel so nervous but he couldn’t help it. It was one thing to confess love and sleep together while on holiday, but another thing entirely to return home and expect himself to fit into her daily life.

He didn’t doubt her love, exactly; it was more that he had a nagging sense of insecurity whenever something good happened to him. He’d been burned – almost literally, once – too many times to trust that things would always go his way.

She’d already leaned into metaphysics to justify his attraction to her so it wasn’t beyond reason that simple physics – nay, basic geography – would be reason enough for her to rationalize it.

But then she turned to him and the warmth of her smile melted away all his anxieties.

“Stay?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes.”

She sent him an amused look. “Why do you sound relieved?”

“Because I’m feeling relief.” He closed the distance between them, her face tilting up as he neared to keep her eyes on his.

“Why?” She asked, leaning her cheek into his hand as he cupped her jaw.

“I’m still processing the concept that you like me,” he admitted. “Let alone anything more than that.”

“Hmm.” She leaned up and kissed him. “Do you need to hear me say it again?”

“Certainly wouldn’t hurt.” He slid his arms around her and interlaced his fingers at the small of her back. She leaned back in his hold so she could see him properly, a balletic arch.

“I love you, Draco.” Her eyes were warm, honest.

He drew in a deep inhale through his nose. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She looked amused.

“And I love you,” he added.

She kissed him. “I know.”

“You sure?” He nipped at her lower lip. “I could demonstrate it for you, if you’d like.”

“Oh really.” She smiled against his next kiss, ruining it slightly, but he didn’t mind. “And how would you do that?”

“I have a few ideas.” He nosed along her jaw to the hinge. “Shall I show you?”

“By all means.”

He walked her backward in the direction of her bedroom, mouth making a thorough canvass of her neck, which she allowed for several stumbling steps until she laughed and twisted out of his hold.

“That’s sexy until I break an ankle,” she told him ruefully, reaching for his hand and tugging him along with her instead.

He’d been in her bedroom before, of course. Had even lain on her bed while she’d chatted to him from her closet, getting dressed for whatever he’d come by to collect her for.

So he knew exactly where to walk. Knew the feeling of her duvet cover, and the exact squishiness of her decorative pillows upon which he’d lounged.

But he’d never felt her sheets. Or seen those throw pillows cast aside to reveal crisp white pillowcases. Or felt the comforting weight of her pressing him into the mattress.

Familiar and new. That’s what loving her felt like.

Dynamic.

He let her kiss him in her bed — him flat and her leaning down over him, knees on either side of his hips — and allowed himself a minute to just…savor it.

But when she sat tall and started to lift her shirt, he wanted back in the action. He sat up with her and helped tug the garment all the way off, then quickly stripped his own to land beside hers on the floor. He kissed her as he slid his hands around her back to search for the clasp of her bra but when his search proved fruitless he broke the kiss and tugged her closer so he could look down over her shoulder for it.

“How the hell do you get this thing off?” He asked her, running his fingers along the smooth band on her back.

She laughed. “In the front. Here.”

She pushed against his chest and he made room, watching her fingers perform a deft movement between her breasts. Her bra sprung open, spilling tits into her palms.

“You’ll need to show me how you did that,” he told her, eyes riveted. “But later. I won’t pay attention right now.”

He pulled the cups back together to admire her cleavage and then, with a satisfied hum, pulled the lingerie off her. He was quick to replace the fabric with his palms, cupping and squeezing softly. She made a little sound of pleasure and he glanced up.

“It seemed you liked a rougher touch this morning, hm? Or is this nice too?” He squeezed her again softly.

“Your hands feel good,” she told him, not really answering his question. “I love your hands.”

He smirked. “Trust me, they love you too.”

He punctuated his next gentle touch with a sharp tweak to her nipples and her hips jolted against him, a surprised gasp bursting out of her.

“Ah, there it is.” He thumbed her again, a touch more lightly. “I’m gonna learn everything you like.”

“You’ve taught me some of the things I like,” she told him, pressing closer. “And I expect you have even more to show me.”

“Always so hungry for knowledge,” he teased her, trailing his fingertips, petal-soft, down her torso. She shivered and he watched her nipples tighten.

“I’m sure we’ll find something I can teach you too,” she murmured, eyes sliding closed as he repeated the downward stroke. “Anything you’ve never had done to you that you want to try?”

“Merlin, what an offer.” He rewarded her with another firm tweak. “I’m sure we’ll find a thing or two.”

He skimmed his hands down a final time and then worked her jeans open. She watched with downturned eyes then rolled off him to lie beside him once he’d completed the task to shuck the denim down her legs. As with his shirt, he stripped off his trousers when she cast aside hers; there was no sense in delaying things a moment longer than needed.

She rolled onto her side to face him and he mirrored it, palming a breast with one hand and sliding his lower arm under her to pull her close with a hand at the base of her spine. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him slowly. First, just his bottom lip. Then the corner of his mouth. The other. His top lip. By the time she kissed him properly on the mouth, his restraint was wearing thin and he deepened it instantly. She hummed a sound against his lips, happy and amused.

He reached down to squeeze her thigh then slung it over his hip, skating his hand back up to palm her arse.

She licked into his mouth, tightening her leg to bring her hips closer to his. When she tried to roll him onto his back, he stopped the momentum with a firm hand on her hip. 

“Not this time, Hermione. I know exactly what you’ll do if you get me on my back.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Which is?”

He pushed her onto her back, leaning half over her. “You’d suck my cock until I’m begging and then ride me until we both come.”

“Mmm, good to know you’re amenable to begging.” She giggled when he pinched her. “But am I to understand you take issue with that series of events?”

“Of course not. That was obviously a subtle request. No, I just have so many other things I want to do to you first.”

“Subtle,” she snorted and he leaned over her fully.

“Hush, witch. Now, unless you decline, I’m going to make you come. A few times, maybe. Fingers first, and then tongue. Alright?”

She tried to keep her face serious to match his authoritative tone but couldn’t stop the little smile from curling the edges of her mouth.

“Yeah,” she said with faux-nonchalance, “alright.”

She had another thing coming if she thought he wasn’t serious. He had about 365 days worth of fantasies about her to enact, after all.

Oh, he couldn’t wait.

Chapter Text

It seemed that Draco enjoyed a little sass, given the way he responded to her faux-indifferent agreement to his plan.

He shook his head, expression bemused and heated. “The mouth on you,” he muttered.

His tone was scolding but his actions belayed the severity of it, a hand reaching under her to palm her arse. She wasn’t a tiny, petite creature like Pansy but it seemed like it took no effort at all for him to lift her up against him with a single arm, pressing her hips to his where they rested a few inches above her.

“I thought you were going to put your mouth on me,” she quipped, and delighted in his reaction, his fingers pressing into her flesh and mouth dropping to claim hers.

“Keep it up,” he told her. “See what it gets you.”

“I’m betting quite a bit.” She smirked and swayed her hips against his where he still held them aloft.

He dropped her down and followed, his weight heavy on her, the stiff length of him slotted between her legs. He gave her a painstakingly slow grind and, despite herself, her eyelids fluttered.

“I’m going to give you everything,” he promised her, voice low. “But you’re not going to like the pace. You’re a needy little thing and I’m going to take my time with you.”

She attempted a scoff but it didn’t have the oomph behind it she’d planned for. His eyes flickered, pleased, when he caught the petulant note to it.

He slid off her to the side, one arm snaking under her to regain his grip on her arse and the other running down the length of her abdomen. He leaned down and flicked the tip of his tongue against a nipple then sucked it lightly into his mouth. Her hips flexed and she felt him smile against her breast. He brushed his fingers over the top of her knickers, putting gentle pressure against her clit as he skated over it and then even more as his fingers pressed against her entrance.

She could tell how wet she’d gotten already but he confirmed it a moment later, fingers slipping into her knickers to glide through the center of her. He slid over her easily, swirling lightly around her opening in a teasing path that made her hips twitch again, instinctively trying to bring him inside. He drew a wet path up to her clit and circled it just as teasingly.

It was the first time he’d had his hand between her legs and just the simple touch had her feeling hot. She loved his hands, larger than hers but dexterous and fine-fingered. The way he usually held her had always felt so casual, almost careless, so feeling the way he was holding her now, with that touch of reverence, of possession, was making her heart weak.

She needed him inside her – she almost didn’t care which part.

She slid her hand down his forearm, feeling the flex of the muscles along it as he continued to slowly circle her clit, until she reached his hand. He glanced up at her from his place over her breast, eyes curious but not enough to pull his mouth away to ask. He sucked her again and added a gentle rock of his jaw, teeth pressing lightly. That snapped her patience. She pressed his fingers lower, groaning softly when the tips just barely slipped inside.

He pulled his mouth off her, teeth and lips tugging her nipple as he lifted off her. “You rushing me, Granger?” He didn’t let her push him any further in.

“Please.” She tried to cant her hips up but he pressed his hand down in response, still half inside her, keeping her still. The act rubbed the heel of his hand firmly against her clit and she savored the pulse of pleasure.

“Why so impatient?” He allowed her a little grind against his hand which she performed with relish.

“I already feel close.” She slid her hand up to his wrist, encircling it, and ground against him again. He pressed back harder, presumably to stop her from moving but inadvertently giving her a jolt of electricity along her nerves.

“Uh-uh, Granger,” he chided. “I don’t want you to come fast this time. I want you to come hard. And that means a little patience.”

She groaned. “Can’t I just take the edge off first? I promise to come hard on the next one.”

He had the audacity to laugh. “Don’t try to barter with me. Last time, you said I could go slow the next time. Well guess what, Granger? Next time is now. So be a good girl and fucking wait.”

He punctuated the last with a rough snap of his wrist, sending his fingers deeper and grinding the meat of his hand against her clit. She squealed, the pleasure ricocheting around inside her, but he swiftly drew away.

Even so, that one motion had lit the fuse inside her. Every touch felt heightened, from the simple brush of his boxer briefs against her hip as he shifted beside her, to the slight flex of the arm nestled below her when he squeezed the flesh of her arse. When he bent down to suck firmly on her nipple again, as if he’d never been diverted away, she felt her cunt tighten.

He tugged her knickers down over a hip then reached across to do the same on the other side. She helped him strip them off and kicked them to the side, planting one foot behind his legs where he was sprawled beside her and dropping the other knee almost all the way to the mattress, opening herself up for him.

He stroked his hand down and between her legs again, putting warm pressure against the entirety of her center. She wanted to grind against his hand but restrained herself, staring at the ceiling. He rewarded her patience and did it for her, rubbing his whole hand on her firmly, mouth attentive to her breast, and then dipped two fingers just barely inside her.

She swallowed her moan as he dragged them up to swirl wetly across her clit. When he slid his hand along her arse to graze along her cunt from behind, she had to squeeze her eyes closed. He slid a finger in, pressing slowly until it was buried. He held it there, tongue circling her nipple in sync with the rhythm on her clit, until she couldn’t hold her shuddery exhale. He sucked on her again and slid the finger out, only to add a second on the next upstroke. He sank them into her and then withdrew, matching the cadence of his other hand rubbing her clit.

It was a slow destruction.

When he leaned forward and performed the delicate suck-bite-suck routine on her nipple, she was gone.

“F-fuck,” she gasped. “Oh, I’m coming. Oh!”

He hummed his acknowledgement against her skin, not changing a single thing with his hands as he worked her through it. She let the waves of it pull and rock her, eyes shut and mouth ajar as she sought for breath. He’d made her come hard, just like he wanted.

“You’re right,” she told him, once she could enunciate again. “You’re an excellent multitasker.”

He snorted a laugh, licking along her breast. “I know.”

“And so humble.”

He nipped at her, grinning, then slid his fingers out of her, leaving a wet little swat on her arse as he shifted positions.

“Need a break?” He slid down the bed, leaving kisses on her ribs and waist and hip as he went.

“For what?” She basked in his touch, body feeling pliant but warm.

“Before I put my mouth on you.”

Nerves skittered along her, anticipatory and somewhat self-conscious. She wasn’t shy, per se, but this was an act she’d never felt quite bold enough to entertain with prior partners — not that it’d been offered more than once or twice.

But judging by the way Draco was looking up at her, eyes intent and hungry, she suspected that any prior experience she might’ve had would’ve been moot anyway. He looked ready to devour her, just like he’d said.

He had relocated himself between her legs, flat on his stomach except where he’d propped up on his elbows. He had a hand wrapped around to rest on the top of each thigh, simply holding her. Waiting.

She worried her lip then shook her head.

He raised a brow. “No?”

“No, I don’t need a break,” she clarified.

“Thank Merlin. I thought for a minute you were about to quash a very long held fantasy of mine. I would’ve been ruined.” He grinned wolfishly and then dropped his eyes to her cunt. “Although you still might ruin me. Circe, you’re so pretty.”

She flushed at his assessment, pleased but embarrassed. “Don’t call it pretty.”

“Trust me, that’s the tamest one in my head.” He dug his fingers into her thighs, pulling them slightly more apart, gaze unwavering. With a final glance up at her, he descended.

The first touch of him was light and she jumped, the feeling surprising and almost ticklish. He squeezed her tense thighs, eyes flicking up to meet her gaze, and then brushed his tongue against her again, this time more firmly. The second touch was grounding and she felt herself relax into it. He hummed a pleased sound as her legs dropped further open then drew back.

“Even better than I imagined,” he promised her. “Fuck, love. You’re gonna have to tie me to the bed to keep me off you now that I’ve had a taste.”

He sank back down and licked her slowly, making sure she felt every drawn out second of his tongue tracing the shape of her.

“Draco.” She squirmed, the soft touch tingling along her nerves, already awakened and alert from her recent orgasm.

“Although even then I bet I could convince you to sit on my face. You’d take pity on me eventually, wouldn’t you? If I asked you nicely? Fuck I’d make it so good for you.” He was mumbling the words directly into her, half muffled and punctuated with swipes of his tongue.

She threaded her fingers into his hair, stroking the soft strands. “What the fuck are you babbling about?” She couldn’t stop her smile, charmed by him.

“God,” he groaned and finally drew back. “It’s unfair how composed you are right now. I feel like my brain is slowly…” He trailed off, distracted again as he licked through her.

“Merging with your cock?” She suggested, laughing.

He groaned into her cunt.

“I refuse to be more affected by this than you.” He straightened, eyes narrowing as he assessed her. Then he hummed a thoughtful sound.

“Shall we see if you like a little teeth here, too?” He mused.

He dipped back down and used his tongue to press her clit up against his teeth, just pressure at first, and then he gently moved his tongue back and forth. The sharpness of the sensation, the mild threat of pain, sent a racing surge of adrenaline through her.

Her thighs quivered.

“Ah.” He grinned. “There it is.”

Once he’d refocused himself toward driving Hermione insane (rather than himself), he found his efforts rewarded with gasps and squirms and quick, tight tugs of his hair.

He wound her up to her second orgasm more quickly, intent that she enjoy herself so that she’d let him do it again, and because getting his tongue on her was making him so hard it was starting to hurt.

He enjoyed the act, absolutely, but what was driving him quite mad was the knowledge that no one else had ever done it to her. He was a bit possessive perhaps but, really, what bloke (or lass) wouldn’t be ecstatic to discover an untapped font of sexual discovery? He couldn’t wait to show her all the ways he could please her.

After recalling her penchant for sharp, rough pressure he’d capitalized on the knowledge, reinvesting time in exploring how a slightly firmer touch may ignite other areas of her cunt before compounding his discoveries to drive her steady toward the edge.

He was laying between her legs, arms wrapped around her hips to hold her still when her hands went from squeezing his to trying to push his arms away.

He flicked his eyes up to her and watched her writhe, locking his arms around her hips, both palms pressing against her pelvis to keep her against his mouth. Even so, he could barely keep her down as her orgasm finally crested, her hips arching off the bed with a broken wail.

He’d praise himself for giving her a good first eating later but his patience was frayed, his cock leaking in a rather desperately hopeful way.

He used a hand to pull his underwear off then gave himself a quick stroke, exhaling at the relief of it. He pushed her legs apart and levered himself up until he was over her, one hand on the mattress by her waist and the other pressing her thigh open.

“Ready for me?” He asked, chest heaving.

“Fuck. Yes.” She was trying to catch her breath, hands in her hair, elbows pointed to the ceiling to open her lungs, mouth ajar.

“Slow and deep?” He asked, “Or hard and fast?”

She brought a hand to run down his abdomen, catching on the faint ridges of muscle as she went. She wrapped her fist around his cock and slid the head against her cunt, lining him up.

“Slow,” she breathed, eyes flicking up to his, “and hard.”

He groaned then slammed into her. Her entire body jolted when he struck deep and the sound she made seared into him, arousal pulsing dangerously at the surface. He was glad for the slow drag out, giving him time to catch his breath.

“Like that?”

She was nodding, eyes squeezed shut. “Just like that. Fuck, I’m so sensitive. I can feel all of you.”

He slammed into her again and she bit back a whimper. “Think you can come again?” he asked, jaw clenched. He’d do his best to hold off for her, if she needed him to, though it might actually kill him.

“Don’t know.” She sucked in a breath as he dragged out, slowly like she’d asked. “Don’t try. Might just happen.”

“Yeah?” He slammed back in and his vision spotted at the tension coiling along his spine. “You might just give me one for free?”

“Oh, you’ve…you’ve earned it.”

His hand flexed where he held her thigh. He tried to let his mind wander as he drove into her again and again and again, to keep himself from narrowing in on just how fucking incredible it felt being inside her.

When that didn’t work, he instead thought quite hard about what they might eat for dinner afterward but in the end, there was no distraction great enough to drag him away from the feeling of her, the sight of her, the sounds of her. She’d picked up an incessant little whine that punctuated each of his powerful thrusts and as the pitch climbed, so did his urgency.

“Fuck, I can’t…shit, I’m about to come.”

“Yes,” she begged, “Yes. Come. Come come come.” Her wheedling tone slammed into him, shredding the last vestiges of his control.

“Where should I…” He broke off with a low groan as the pleasure pulled tight.

“Inside.”

The word rocked through him and he complied, as if she’d commanded it from him. He sank deep and let go, rocking his hips slowly into her as his cock filled her with several hard pulses. He panted, eyes on where he was joined to her, arms slightly shaky and abs flexing with each shuddering wave.

She stroked her hands up his biceps and then down his shoulders and his sides, meeting in the middle to pet his abs. He shuddered at the caress as he calmed down.

Her eyes met his and she smiled, something soft but full of unfiltered happiness. He couldn’t help but return it.

“I’m not on the potion yet,” she reminded him after a moment.

“Right! I’ll just—“ He made to get up to retrieve his wand but she wrapped her legs tight around his calves.

“In a minute.” She paused, eyeing him. “Is it very wrong that I’m kind of getting off on the fact that this could be the cause of ending the Malfoy Pureblood line?” Her voice had a lilting quality to it, humorous but not quite kidding.

He snorted. “You like the idea of ruining my father’s legacy, Granger?”

“I like the idea of changing your legacy, Malfoy.” Her tone was teasing, his last name a taunt, but even so, her words wrapped themselves around him, constricting his heart in an almost too-tight embrace.

“You really are trying to make up for lost time, hmm? What shall we name our firstborn, then?” he murmured, after he’d kissed her soundly.

She swatted him, but he was only half joking. He’d take whatever she wanted to give him.