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Hermione jiggled her knee as she watched Professor Slughorn make his way into the potions classroom. As he placed his folio on the desk and removed his hat and outdoor robes, she couldn’t help thinking what a strange fellow he was. For someone so extremely caught up in appearances, rank, and status, he certainly didn’t look the part. He tried, yes…he absolutely acted the part, and seemed to have some degree of success. But as far as she was concerned, he just didn’t fit the mould. He didn’t appear influential or important. He didn’t look like someone who could gain the attention – and admiration – of, well, anybody.

Which is maybe why he tried so hard. Always attempting to rub shoulders with influential people, or those close to them. It was the whole point of his Slug Club. It’s raison d’être . Of course Slughorn had invited Harry, Ron and herself to join this year – being a member of the Golden Trio carried a lot of weight post-war. He’d seemed positively delighted to discover all three of them would be returning to Hogwarts for its first ever eighth year. They all accepted, of course, lest they appear too high on their horses. 

Ron had been ecstatic to receive his invitation – healing his hurt ego for having been snubbed sixth year. She and Harry had accepted out of a sense of obligation.

It wasn’t like Hermione was looking to do anything that put her and Ron in the same room together. In fact, since their disastrous attempt at a relationship over the summer, she had been desperately trying to keep him at arm's-length. They were still friends, or at the very least still friendly with each other. But their friendship was very different than it had been before. Knowing that Ron had seen her naked. Fucked her. Heard her come…all of it changed everything. She couldn’t go back to the way things had been before. She didn’t want to.

But it was clear Ron felt differently. 

He wanted another chance with her. To make things right. Claiming they were both fucked up owing to the trauma and events following the war. 

Which wasn’t entirely wrong.

But it didn’t change the fact Hermione unequivocally did not want to get back together with him. Did not want to ‘cut him some slack’ as he’d put it, and repeat one of the worst mistakes of her life.

She sighed, watching Slughorn as he began writing the day’s lesson plan on the chalkboard with a slight sense of irritation. Musing how different her approach to school was this year over every single other one. For starters, there was no Voldemort to worry about. No impending doom or death. Harry – and the entire wizarding world – was safe. Which meant she was free to entirely focus on her studies. Finally.

Only things had changed since sixth year.

A lot had changed.

She was nineteen now. An adult. And her approach to school and especially to her professors – many of whom she’d fought alongside – had changed. She respected them, sure…but not as authority figures. Not anymore. Now they were her peers. She’d even classify some of them as her friends. 

Not Slughorn, of course.

She sucked at her teeth and shifted her position on her stool, pulling down her uniform skirt. She’d somehow managed to outgrow it, but hadn’t wanted to buy any new ones, this being her last year and all. She’d vowed to transfigure it – lengthen it slightly – but just hadn’t gotten around to it. She only ever remembered when it hitched up in class. When she could do nothing about it.

“Hermione, please,” Harry said quietly as he put his hand on her knee to stop it from jiggling. “You’re shaking the whole table.”

“Sorry,” she said, casting him a quick glance. “Just feeling antsy today.” It was their first week back after Christmas break, and their first potions class. Slughorn would be assigning them partners for their end of year projects.

“Well, then,” the professor finally began as he looked around the classroom. “I hope you all had a restful winter break, and are ready to get back to your studies and tackle your end of year projects.” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully and ran his thumbs up and down his braces, stretching them out. “Each of you will be paired with a partner, with whom you will not only work on your final projects, but all brews for the remainder of the year. You’ll become potions partners, so as not to…” he stopped, and chuckled at his own joke before even making it, “...so as not result in any cross-contamination.”

There were a few twitters among the classroom’s brownnosers. Hermione looked around herself in disgust, making a mental note of exactly who had laughed at that awful joke. Praying to God, Godric Gryffindor and Albus Dumbledore that she wouldn’t be paired with any of them. As her gaze swept over her peers, she made eye contact with none other than Draco Malfoy who was, apparently, doing the same thing as she was. They paused, looked at each other for a very brief moment and then with a slight frown, he moved on.

Huh.

Not exactly a display of gratitude for testifying at his trial and getting him pardoned. Hermione shrugged slightly. He had thanked her already. What did she expect? His never-ending devotion and service?

Clearly that wasn’t going to happen.

She turned her attention back to Slughorn.  

“Now in light of recent events…” he went on, clearly referring to the war, which in Hermione’s opinion probably merited a little more than a ‘recent events’ footnote, “...I’ve decided to assign everyone a partner from a different house – in the spirit of inter-house unity, and getting to know our fellow classmates a little better.” There were a number of groans at this news. “I’ve also decided to match partners based on their current academic achievements in potions, to ensure an even pairing of skills and abilities. I don’t want a strong potioneer paired with someone who struggles, as it won’t allow me to gauge if the latter is learning anything, or simply riding the coattails of their classmate.” Even more groans, whispers, and complaints followed this revelation. He smiled at the class, “Yes, yes…I know this may come as a bit of a shock, but I do want you all to learn something in this class. Once paired together, I’ll expect you to select a potion for your end of year projects. I’ll remind you all, it should be a long-brew potion. Something that takes anywhere between two and four months to successfully brew. You will run your selections by me for approval, and to ensure the correct ingredients are either available, or procurable.”

He paused for questions, and when there were none, pulled a list out of his leather folio and began assigning partners. 

Harry was assigned to work with Hannah Abbott, while Ron was paired with Luna. This last pairing caused the former to groan and the latter to squeal in excitement. Hermione could understand Ron’s trepidation – while Luna was an amazing friend and all around wonderful witch…she wasn’t exactly the most disciplined or practical student when it came to school work. But neither was Ron. This pairing would force him to be the disciplined one. It was a match made in heaven, and Hermione couldn’t help a smirk. 

As Slughorn made his way down the list, Hermione watched her pool of potential potions partners get smaller and smaller. She’d had her bets on being matched with Micheal Corner, whom she knew was Ravenclaw’s top student in the class, but he ended up with Pansy Parkinson. Hermione frowned. She had been entirely unaware that Pansy was even remotely skilled at potions. She looked around the dungeon, trying to figure out who was left that would be at the same skill-level as her. 

And that’s when their eyes met. Again. 

Draco Malfoy.

He was already looking at her, having clearly come to the same conclusion, only faster. He tilted his head and raised his impossibly pale eyebrows.

Was it possible Malfoy was even paler than before? His hair definitely seemed less blonde, and more silver than she remembered it. And though she was loath to admit it, she definitely remembered how Malfoy looked. Most girls at Hogwarts did. He was easily one of the best looking students there – and the summer between seventh and eighth year hadn’t changed that. In fact, he seemed to have gone through a growth spurt. He was taller. His shoulders broader. His features more chiselled – his jaw was square, and his cheekbones impossibly sharp. Even his eyes had changed. Hermione remembered them being such a pale blue they were practically grey. But not anymore. Even from across the room she could see they were a vibrant icy blue. 

Had he glamoured them?

She didn’t know Malfoy very well – if at all – but she didn’t think he was the type to do that.

In the background, Slughorn cleared his throat to declare what had already been established by elimination, “And our final potions partners, Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy.” He rocked back and forth on his feet for a moment before continuing. “Now then, if everyone would collect their belongings and join their new partners, we’ll begin today’s lesson.”

She looked back at Malfoy and he jerked his head, indicating the free space next to him. He’d already been sitting alone. She nodded, and began collecting her things.

“Fuck, Hermione…and I thought Hannah Abbott would be a chore,” Harry muttered, then glanced at Malfoy. She bit her lip, and nodded. Looked at her best friend and tried to put on a brave face, “At least academically we’ll be well matched,” she said. 

“But what about everything else?” he asked.

Indeed. What about everything else?

Hermione shrugged. She didn’t have a clue. She’d just have to make the best of it.

She stacked her books, topped them with her parchment and quill, then slung her satchel over her shoulder. “Wish me luck,” she said quietly to Harry, and then bravely made her way to the very back of the classroom to join Malfoy at his table.

He’d already rearranged his belongings to ensure they were on his half of the workstation. He’d even moved his stool over, and was practically sitting at the end of the table. She frowned slightly, but vowed not to get this partnership off to the wrong start. So she bit her tongue and refrained from making any snarky remarks about getting as far away as possible from the mudblood, and instead simply said, “Malfoy,” in greeting.

“Granger,” he replied, watching her intently. Tracking her every move as she put her satchel down and organised her books and parchment, and finally sat down on her stool. He very noticeably noticed her bare legs, far too much of which were on display owing to her too short skirt. She tugged her skirt down again, as Malfoy appeared to expend some effort to stop staring at them. His nostrils flared, he frowned, and he clenched his jaw. Shifted his chair even farther away from her.

What the actual fuck?

Hermione couldn’t help feeling insulted.

But again, in the name of peace and inter-house unity, she bit her tongue.

Thankfully, Slughorn launched into the day’s lesson, eliminating any need for small talk. As Hermione took down exhaustive notes, she couldn’t help noticing that Malfoy didn’t write a single thing down. In fact, he didn’t even have a parchment out. He just sat on his stool, listening, and fidgeting with his quill. He had exceptionally long fingers. Graceful, even.

Hermione shook her head, and returned her full attention to the professor. When he finished explaining the attributes of today’s potion, along with its uses and benefits, he told them all to get started with their brewing. Malfoy immediately stood up, heading for the potions cupboard saying, “I’ll grab the ingredients,” over his shoulder.

Well alright, then.

Hermione busied herself getting the fire under their cauldron going, and preparing their work space. Checking they had knives, chopping blocks, mortars and pestles.

When Malfoy returned, she was pleased to see he hadn’t forgotten anything, and had clearly picked the best of the available ingredients. She couldn’t help a smile.

“You approve?” he asked with the cock of an eyebrow.

She smiled even wider. “I do,” she confirmed.

He nodded, and they companionably got started prepping the ingredients. Malfoy’s cutting was precise, his mashing better than hers owing to his greater strength, and he seemed to have an innate ability to pour exact amounts of liquid without actually having to measure them. He was…a fantastic potions partner. More incredible still, was the fact he seemed to know exactly what to do, despite the fact he hadn’t written a single word of the lesson down.

“How do you do that?” she finally had to ask, looking at him with exasperation.

“Do what?” he replied as he finished stirring their potion. He set the timer to three minutes and looked at her, his overly blue eyes so focused, she felt herself blush a bit.

“How do you know exactly what to do, without any notes or instructions?”

He shrugged one shoulder, “I have hyperthymesia,” he said matter-of-factly. “I remember everything I experience with perfect recall. Including today’s lesson.”

Hermione stared at him. “But that’s not….”

“Fair?” he finished for her.

She bit her lips, but couldn’t help nodding.

“What’s not fair, Granger, is the fact I have to remember every awful fucking thing that’s happened my entire life in perfect fucking detail ,” he sneered. “Like being bit by a bloody albino peacock when I was three, or when my father punished me with his cane for the first time when I was nine, when I was transfigured into a fucking ferret and smashed repeatedly on the ground, when I was branded like a fucking animal by the Dark Lord, and when I d— …” he broke off abruptly, took a deep breath. “There are a lot of them,” he finished, as if she hadn’t already guessed.

“I’m sorry,” she frowned. “I was only thinking…”

“You were only thinking how it applies to school. I got that.”

Mercifully, the timer went off and they got back to brewing their potion in silence. When they’d finished, he backed away from both Hermione and the cauldron, and Professor Slughorn came to inspect their results.

“Perfect, perfect, perfect,” he declared.

Hermione couldn’t help grinning, and when she looked at Malfoy he was….not quite smiling. Rather, his lips were pressed tightly together. Maybe he was constipated. She had no idea. Couldn’t read him one bit.

After Slughorn had taken a sample phial of their results and they began cleaning up, Hermione cleared her throat. 

“I suppose we should get to the library rather quickly to research options for our end of year project…” she started, “...before all the good books are taken.”  

Malfoy attempted to conceal a sigh, but failed. He looked at Hermione and asked resignedly, “When did you want to meet?” 

“Tonight? After dinner?”

He clenched his jaw and ran his hand through his hair. “Sure, I’ll find you,” he said, then grabbed his satchel and left the classroom in a whirl of robes.

-

At dinner Hermione found herself sandwiched between Harry and Neville. Which, in the grand scheme of things, was actually a very good place to be. They were two of her very favourite people in the world. Less fortunate, was the fact Ron was sitting directly across from her. Conversation was decidedly stilted as a result, as she constantly tried to steer it away from the topic of ‘them.’ There was no ‘them’ as far as she was concerned, and she didn’t want to discuss ‘them’ as if there were.

She looked over her shoulder at the Slytherin table, checking to see how far along Malfoy was with his dinner. Only he wasn’t there. He’d be hard to miss with his silvery hair. Had he finished already? Impossible. Dinner had only just started. Was he running late? That would really put a wrinkle in her plans to meet at the library. 

She shook her head and tried to focus on her meal. Only she couldn’t. She was already scanning the Great Hall, looking to see which of her seventh and eighth year potions classmates were there, and which were missing and quite possibly already in the library, taking out the very best books.

She couldn’t take it. 

She wolfed down her meal, and got up. “I’m headed to the library,” she announced, and extricated herself from her Harry and Neville sandwich.

“Already?” Harry asked. “We just got the assignment today…”

“Yes already, Harry,” she replied, shaking her head at his complete lack of academic prowess. She looked over at the Hufflepuff table and saw Hannah Abbott deeply engrossed in conversation. Obviously not about potions from the way she was gesturing and giggling. Those two were clearly doomed. 

“See you later,” she said, patting Harry on the shoulder and making her way towards the library.

When she arrived she went straight for her favourite table – only to find Malfoy already sitting there, pouring through a huge tome on potions. She smiled and made her way towards him, only to notice his shoulders tense as she neared him. It couldn’t possibly be related.

She got to the table, draped her satchel over the back of a chair, and sat down, looking at him. “How long have you been here?” she asked.

He looked up at her, his whole demeanour strained. As if he were a tightly strung bow. “A few minutes,” he replied.

“I didn’t see you at dinner.” It was meant as a statement, but might have come out more as an accusation.

“Because I wasn’t in the Great Hall for dinner,” he replied, then shook his head. Closed his book. “So Granger, about this potion…” he turned in his chair to face her, cracked his neck, “I’m assuming you want to tackle one that’s either extremely rare, or extremely well known for its difficulty…” he raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

She nodded. Bit her lips.

She could see him watching her mouth before returning those intensely blue eyes back to her own. 

“We don’t need a book to tell us the latter,” he said matter-of-factly. “We could brew polyjuice, veritaserum, amortentia or felix felicis….” he paused before adding, “Or wolfsbane.”

Hermione shifted on her chair uncomfortably. Pulled her skirt down.

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve already brewed one or more of those, haven’t you?”

“Might have,” she replied evasively, and busied herself by pushing her curls out of her face, and attempting to push them behind her ears.

Malfoy’s nostrils flared slightly, before he leaned his elbows on his knees and asked, “Which one?”

She cleared her throat, admitting, “Polyjuice.”

“When?”

“In second year.”

“Fuck,” he muttered, then leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out in front of him, assessing the witch in front of him with what looked like a sense of appreciation.

“Why?”

“Hmm?” she replied cagily.

“Why on earth did you need polyjuice in second year?”

Hermione licked her lips before finally biting her lower one, all while Malfoy watched her closely.

She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “We were trying to figure out who the Heir of Slytherin was,” she finally told him.

His face pinched ever so slightly before he asked, “Who did you think it was?”

This conversation was making Hermione hot. Uncomfortable. She lifted her hair off her neck and twisted it into a loose bun. Fished her wand out of her satchel and poked it through to hold it.

Malfoy pushed his chair back, crossed a leg over his knee, and ran a hand over his face, pausing and rubbing at the stubble on his chin.

“Granger,” he said somewhat tightly. “ Who did you think was the Heir of Slytherin?”

“You,” she finally admitted.

“Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath. “Who did you impersonate?”

“ I didn’t impersonate anyone. I was involved in somewhat of a polyjuice mishap…” 

Malfoy raised his eyebrows, waiting.

“...but Harry and Ron transformed into Crabbe and Goyle and followed you into the Slytherin common room to fish for clues,” Hermione finished. Malfoy didn’t respond. He just looked at her in incredulity. “They came out convinced you weren’t the heir, if that’s any consolation,” she added.

He tilted his head to the side, “What kind of mishap?”

Hermione shook her head before cradling it in her hands in embarrassment, “I accidentally used a cat hair, rather than a human hair in my potion,” she said with shame. “It wasn’t pretty, and it didn’t wear off after an hour.”

Malfoy actually snorted with laughter, “Served you right,” he finally said, running his hand through his hair, leaving it slightly disheveled. “So polyjuice is off the list,” he concluded. “Do any of the other potions interest you, or do we want to spend our time pouring over dusty books nobody has checked out in years to find something more obscure?”

“Honestly?” she asked.

“Honestly,” he confirmed.

“I’d like to at least have a look and see what else there is.”

Malfoy nodded. “That’s fair,” he said, then stood up and made his way to the stacks, looked around, then began pulling down several dust covered books.

Hermione followed close behind, as he started passing books to her, stacking them in a pile in her arms. It was, if she had to be honest, the very opposite of what she was used to doing with Harry and Ron. She was used to being the one to find the best books and resources.

“Why am I carrying everything?” she finally asked in exasperation.

Malfoy looked down at her with a frown. “Because you can’t reach the top two shelves,” he said matter-of-factly.

Touché.

“What about that one?” she said, trying to point with her chin, “The one with the green leather cover? By Laperrière?”

Malfoy pulled it half out and examined the title. Nodded. Added it to their growing pile. It was getting heavy. His eyebrows shot up, and he grabbed one last volume from the top shelf muttering, “This should do,” and then took two-thirds of the books out of Hermione’s arms and carried them to their table where he dropped them with a loud thump. Hermione joined him, and very deliberately placed her books down carefully, giving him a pointed look.

Then they both sat down and began examining their finds. 

Malfoy immediately dismissed several books, including the one by Laperrière.

“What’s wrong with those?” she asked, unable to comprehend how he’d ruled them out so quickly.

He sighed, and picked up the rejected books one by one. “This one mostly deals with complicated variations on love potions, which I am absolutely not interested in making.” He took the next book, “This one claims to be bilingual, but is mostly written in Russian, which I don’t read.” Finally he took the Laperrière book in hand, “And this one smells.”

“It what?” Hermione asked in surprise.

“It smells. I don’t even want to open it again.”

“It smells,” she repeated with a frown.

He nodded and passed her the book. She opened it and leaned in to take a whiff, and….bloody hell. It did smell. Like an old pair of gym socks that had been forgotten in a duffel bag for a few weeks. She grimaced, “You’re right. Pass.”

He took the three books and set them aside as Hermione divvied up the remaining stack. She paused at the black bound volume Malfoy had selected last, turning it over in her hands. “Malfoy…” she said as she opened the book, “...this is dark magic.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide.

“So?” he replied.

“So?”

“Yeah. So?”

Hermione sighed. “We can’t do a dark magic potion,” she said. 

Wasn’t that obvious? Did she have to spell it out for him? If Draco Malfoy brewed a dark magic potion, every single student in Hogwarts would be talking about it. How the marked Death Eater was a dark wizard. That he was probably still an acolyte of Voldemort’s. And that he’d probably imperiused her to get her to agree to anything so patently absurd. 

No. Absolutely not. They would not brew anything from that book for their end of year project.

“Why not?” he asked, crossing his arms. “You said you wanted to find something obscure. I guarantee the potions in this book will be exactly that.”

“Well, I’m not looking through it,” she said, laying it aside.

“Good,” he replied and added the book to his stack.

She looked at him for a moment, and huffed in irritation. Fine. Whatever. Let him look. They had to agree on a potion to brew, and she would never agree to anything from that book. Nor would Professor Slughorn, for that matter. It was easier to just let him waste his time.

Malfoy’s jaw clenched visibly as he watched her.

“Okay,” she said, sitting down, loosing her hair and fluffing it. “Let’s get started.” 

She pushed her stack aside, took the book on top, and opened it up. Started perusing its contents. She got through the first few pages and stopped, as a strange feeling came over her. A tingling sensation on the back of her neck. It felt like…someone was watching her. She looked up, and sure enough Malfoy was just staring at her. Frowning. His nostrils slightly flared. 

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

He took a moment to respond. 

“Yes,” he finally said. “I can’t sit here.”

“You can’t sit here?” she repeated.

He shook his head, “No, I can’t sit here.” He got up, and began collecting his belongings. “I’ll check these out. Have a look, and come up with a short list for…” he looked at her.

“For next week?” she suggested.

“Next week?” It was his turn to repeat.

“What’s wrong with next week?” she asked defensively.

Malfoy shrugged. “Nothing. I just expected you’d be itching to get started. That you’d want to pick something sooner.”

Hermione took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Why did everyone think she was so unreasonable? It was really rather insulting.

“How about Sunday, then?” she suggested. “We can meet after lunch and compare notes.”

Malfoy frowned. “Can we do Sunday morning, instead? I have quidditch practice after lunch.”

She’d completely forgotten Malfoy was back to being the Slytherin house team’s seeker after several years of hiatus, and that as a result, Slytherin had won every single one of their matches this year. Malfoy was….well, he was a brilliant seeker, if she was being completely honest. Far better than he used to be. She even thought he might be better than Harry, though would never voice that opinion out loud. It didn’t matter, anyway. Harry had opted not to join the house team this year. Something about wanting a drama, competition and tournament-free year, which was understandable.

“Sunday morning would be perfect,” she smiled.

He gave her a single curt nod, picked up his stack of books, and practically ran out of the library.

Hermione shook her head. Puzzled. She really, really didn’t understand him at all.

-

Hermione was first to arrive at their next potions class and sat at the same table Malfoy had selected last time. Intentionally sitting at the back of the class was, in and of itself, a new experience for her – and she watched as everyone arrived. 

She felt…nervous for some reason. Jittery. Her stomach twisting itself into knots. She couldn’t figure out whyuntil, just as Professor Slughorn was about to close the classroom door, Malfoy arrived. He rushed into the classroom in a swirl of robes and walked to their table at the back, passing behind Hermione and slipping into his seat. Very intentionally moving it over so he was sitting farther away from her.

Bloody hell. This again. It explained why she was so on edge. 

She looked at him with a frown, but all he gave her was a quick nod of acknowledgement.

Then Slughorn cleared his throat and started his lesson, and she was forced to pay attention and take notes. Irritated at Malfoy who just sat there and ‘experienced’ the lesson so he’d remember it forever in perfect detail.

Wanker.

Hermione’s irritation with Malfoy subsided when they actually got to brewing. Again, he proved an excellent potions partner. He selected the best ingredients, and was meticulous in their preparation. Until he was chopping a sopophorous bean, that is, and slipped – cutting his finger. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, and immediately put his finger in his mouth. Looked around the classroom, then took the knife, chopping board, and everything on it, and walked to the front. Gave Slughorn a meaningful look, was given a nod by the professor, and proceeded into his office.

What the fuck was going on?

Hermione made to follow, but was stopped by Slughorn. “My dear,” he said with a nervous laugh, “...why don’t you go select a new sopophorous bean and get back to your potion? Mr. Malfoy will rejoin you shortly.”

“But,” she started.

“He’ll rejoin you shortly, Miss Granger. Please get back to your cauldron.”

She nodded, went to the ingredients cupboard and found a sub-par bean – it was all that was left – then slowly made her way to the back of the classroom, catching Harry’s eye on her way. He had that look on his face. The same one from sixth year. The one that said he was absolutely convinced Malfoy was hiding something.

The thing about Harry suspecting Malfoy was….well, he was usually right.

Hermione sighed, and got to cutting the new bean – very carefully. She added it to the cauldron, and continued working on the potion, looking towards Slughorn’s office every few minutes. 

Where was Malfoy?

Finally, after ten or fifteen minutes he emerged and joined her at the table. 

“What were you doing back there?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said tightly.

“Nothing?” she repeated, not buying it.

“Nothing,” he said again. Firmly, as if closing the topic.

She shook her head and reached over. Took his hand in her own. He went to pull away, but she held firm. Examined it, and frowned. Besides the fact it was ridiculously cold, there was no sign of his cut. She looked up at him, “You healed it?” she asked.

Malfoy was breathing deeply. He seemed…pained. Slightly panicked. His nostrils were flared, his eyes wide, and his pupils dilated.

She let go of his hand, and saw instant relief on his features.

“Yes,” he said shortly. Frowning. 

With what looked like some degree of effort, he pulled his frowning gaze from Hermione and looked at the ingredients, the cauldron, then asked, “You’ve added the lacewings?” 

Hermione took a deep breath, trying desperately not to be offended by his obvious discomfort at her having touched him. Of being near him. She nodded her head, “Yeah. We start stirring again as soon as the potion turns purple. Then add the dandelion root.”

He gave her a furtive look and nodded. Immediately started preparing the dandelion roots for the next step while she just stared at him, feeling slighted, confused, and all around irritated with him. It’s not like they had to get along – they just had to be good potions partners. That was it. That was the extent of their relationship. They weren’t friends, so she needn’t beat herself up over his odd and infuriating behaviour.

The potion took on a decidedly violet hue, and she began stirring. Thirteen times counter-clockwise, followed by six clockwise. She looked at Malfoy and saw him hesitate slightly before joining her in front of the cauldron to add the dandelion roots. They both peered inside the cauldron as the roots sunk to the bottom and apparently did…nothing?

They looked at each other a moment, then back at their potion.

“Is it supposed to do anything?” Hermione asked.

“It’s supposed to turn navy blue,” Malfoy replied. Looked at his watch. “I don’t think it’s supposed to take this long.”

“Maybe it’s the bean,” Hermione theorised.

“The bean?” Malfoy frowned at her. 

“Yes,” Hermione answered as she pushed her hair back off her face. She was getting sweaty from standing over the cauldron for so long. “You bled all over our bean. I had to get another one. It….wasn't ideal.”

Malfoy swallowed, his Adam’s apple rather pronounced and bobbing in his throat. 

“So you’re saying this is my fault?” he sneered.

“No,” Hermione shook her head. “It’s the bean’s fault. Or….” she leaned in conspiratorially, “…it’s the professor’s fault for having such shitty sopophorous beans.”

Malfoy actually smiled. “Granger,” he drawled, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear.”

“You haven’t?” she asked in surprise. “Clearly we haven’t spoken much.”

“Clearly.”

“So how do we salvage this?” she asked.

Malfoy looked into the pot, considering. Shook his head, “We don’t.”

“We….we don’t ?” Hermione repeated with incredulity. Did he just intend to give up? Fail that day’s lesson? What kind of potioneer was he? 

One that gives up, obviously.

She huffed, pulled her hair off her neck, and fanned herself with her hand. 

Malfoy backed up so fast he crashed into a stool and almost fell. Steadied himself, and closed his eyes, apparently trying to compose himself.

Hermione had had enough of him for the day. She waved Professor Slughorn over and asked him about their potion. Explained everything they’d done – presumably correctly – only to result in a decidedly purple, and not navy blue, potion.

“Ahh, Miss Granger,” Slughorn replied, “…that’d be the sopophorous bean. It was either not prepared properly…” Hermione snorted at that suggestion, “…or was of poor quality.” He looked at Malfoy a moment, and took a deep breath. “I imagine your second bean was…the bottom of the barrel,” he conceded. 

“It absolutely was,” Hermione confirmed.

“Yes, well, that would do it.” He peered into the cauldron. “Very good work all the same. Everything else appears to be in order.” He collected a sample, then vanished the remaining contents. “Clean up your workspace, then you’re free to go.”

They made quick work of it considering Malfoy had already removed half of their supplies and never returned with them. When their table was clean Hermione spared him a quick glance, “You’ll be ready with your suggestions on Sunday?”

“Right after breakfast,” he confirmed.

“Good,” Hermione nodded. “We’ll meet in the library?” she asked.

“No,” Malfoy rapidly replied. “Outside.”

“Outside? It’s January, Malfoy. Why on earth would we meet to discuss our project outside?”

He at least had the decency to look uncomfortable. Took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled slowly. 

“The Great Hall, then,” he suggested.

“Okay, fine. Sunday. After breakfast in the Great Hall.”

She gave him one last look, then grabbed her satchel and robes, spun on her heel and walked out of the classroom, her head held high, and robes billowing behind her.

She could make an exit too. 

Chapter Text

On Sunday Hermione came down to breakfast on the late side. She was going to meet Malfoy afterwards, and didn’t want to sit around the Great Hall all morning long. As she finished eating she noticed Malfoy was missing from the Slytherin table again . It actually occurred to her that she couldn’t remember seeing him at any meals this year. Not a single one.

In years past, he was always a prominent fixture in the Great Hall owing to his hair, his cruel laughter, and those pretentious eagle owls delivering his post.

But where was he now? Why wasn’t he eating with his housemates?

She frowned and gulped the last of her tea. It didn’t make sense. He had to eat. So where was he eating?

As the tables slowly cleared and students wandered off to start their days, Malfoy came sauntering into the Great Hall. Tall and aloof. He was wearing a pair of navy trousers and a white t-shirt, and Hermione was somewhat shocked to see his Dark Mark on open display. It stood out prominently, like a dark stain on his pale skin. She wasn’t the only one looking at it.

Malfoy didn’t seem to notice. Or care. Either way, he joined her at the Gryffindor table, sitting down opposite her, and placing a single book down on the table in front of him.

“Granger,” he said in greeting.

“Malfoy,” she replied, her brows drawing together as she recognised the book from the library. It was the dark magic one. She looked up at him, exasperated. “Did you make a list?”

“A very short one,” he replied. His lips twitched, as if he were attempting not to smirk.

“How many potions did you identify?” she asked irritatedly, already guessing at the answer.

“One.”

Hermione closed her eyes and shook her head in disbelief. Opened them, and asked resignedly, “From the dark magic book?”

He nodded, flipped through the book until he found what he was looking for, turned the book around and slid it across the table so it was in front of her. “This,” he said, his eyes intent. “I want to brew this one,” he clarified, pointing to the potion on the left page.

Hermione took in the earnestness on Malfoy’s face, before looking down at the book in front of her. The potion was….

Bloody hell.

“You want to brew a potion that brings the dead back to life?” she asked in exasperation. “Besides the fact it’s dark, and impossible to actually do – once you’re dead, you’re dead…how would you even get a corpse to drink a potion? – Slughorn would never allow it. Not in a million years.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “Did you actually look at the potion before you shat all over it?” he asked, his irritation evident. “Look at the ingredients. At the instructions. It’s the perfect potion that checks every single box on Slughorn’s list of what makes for an ideal end of year project.” He stretched his legs out under the table, accidentally knocking them into Hermione’s feet before pulling them back quickly.

Hermione leaned over and started scanning the page more carefully. Taking in the finer details of the potion. Malfoy was….well, if she was being completely honest, he was right. His potion choice would be an excellent candidate – academically speaking – if it weren’t dark and meant to bring back the dead. Really. What was he thinking? She sighed, and looked up. His eyes were so intense, his face so…hopeful. She felt bad saying no. She bit her lower lip, thinking. Maybe she didn’t have to say no. Slughorn could.

“Okay, fine,” she said. “We’ll take it to Professor Slughorn and see what he thinks.”

“Yeah?” Malfoy asked, a surge of optimism on his face.

Hermione couldn’t help but smile, “Yes,” she conceded. “But if he says no, then we choose a potion from my short list.”

“He won’t say no,” Malfoy replied confidently.

“But if he does…” 

“Then we’ll pick one of yours,” he agreed.

Hermione couldn’t believe she was agreeing to this. But there was absolutely no way Slughorn would allow them to brew a dark magic potion, that she felt it was worth it to keep the peace. She did have to sit and brew with Malfoy for the remainder of the year, after all.

-

Later that afternoon she was out walking with Harry, discussing her Malfoy predicament. 

“I’m telling you, Hermione…he’s hiding something.”

“But isn’t he always hiding something?”

Harry stopped short, thinking. Scratched the stubble on his neck, then cocked his head, “Probably, yeah.”

“Then it’s not worth worrying about,” Hermione concluded. “Slughorn will put a stop to this cockamamie idea of his, we’ll pick another potion, and that’ll be the end of it.

“But why isn’t he eating in the Great Hall anymore? Why the overreaction when he cut himself in class last week?”

Hermione sighed and adjusted her scarf. “I don’t know, Harry. I really don’t. All I know is that I have to make this potions partnership work. I want to get through this year without any dramas, mysteries, or near-death experiences. I just want to do well on my N.E.W.T.s and move on with my life.”

Harry adjusted his glasses. “You’re right. You’re always right, Hermione,” he smiled at her cheekily.

Hermione smiled back at Harry, then looked around herself. Realised they’d walked towards the quidditch pitch where the Slytherin team was practising. She looked at Harry. 

“Couldn’t keep away, could you? You do realise you’re not on the house team this year. There’s no need to check out the competition.”

He looked down and nudged Hermione’s shoulder. “But my girlfriend is on the team…if I can help her in any way….let her know what kind of drills they’re practising… ”

Malfoy flew by them in a blur of green chasing after the snitch.

Harry watched him wistfully.

“Any regrets?” Hermione asked quietly.

“No,” Harry replied. He paused and watched as Malfoy caught the snitch then drew up quickly on his broom, did a flip to turn around, and then flew towards his teammates, jumping off his broom and onto the ground. “You know…I think Malfoy might actually be better than me, now,” he frowned.

Hermione didn’t really know enough about quidditch to comment intelligently on that statement. What she did know, though, was that Malfoy looked quite fit in his quidditch gear.

-

They managed to get through their next potions class without incident. 

Hermione took exhaustive notes to the extent that her hand was cramped by the time they were ready to brew. Malfoy, of course, did not. He just sat on his stool with his arms crossed, listening to Professor Slughorn. His lips tight, a slight frown tugging at the edge of his features.

She moved about their workspace freely and focused on the task at hand, while trying desperately to ignore the fact that he seemed to dance around her. Always avoiding her. Always moving away swiftly when he couldn’t. Desperate not to be near her. Not to touch her.

Despite her irritation and his apparent abhorrence of her mere presence, they brewed their potion to perfection. 

When class ended they cleaned up their workstation, then waited until the dungeon had emptied – sitting as far away from each other as possible, while still technically remaining at the same table. Then they made their way to the front of the class to talk to Slughorn about their potion selection for their end of year project.

“Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy,” Slughorn started, “...how can I help you?” 

“Well, Professor,” Hermione started.

“We wanted to run our selected potion by you for approval, sir,” Malfoy finished.

Hermione noted how decisive his tone of voice was. How he’d referred to it as their selected potion rather than a possible one. She watched as he pulled the dark magic book out of his satchel, flipped to the right page, and handed it to Slughorn. 

“What book is this?” Slughorn asked, looking at the cover. “Where did you get this?”

“From the library,” Malfoy replied matter-of-factly.

“From the restricted section?” Slughorn followed up.

“No,” Malfoy shook his head. Cocked it to one side, “I grant you, it was probably misclassified. But that’d be Miss Pince’s fault, not ours.”

“Hmm,” Slughorn answered noncommittally. He adjusted his glasses and properly looked at the potion. Gave Malfoy a sharp look. Turned to Hermione, “And you’ve agreed to brew this potion, Miss Granger?”

“I have,” she nodded, “...with your approval, of course. Though I was sceptical at first, I realised that the point of our project isn’t to make a potion that’ll be used, but to demonstrate our ability to brew it. And this one…” she looked up at Malfoy, “...checks all the right boxes.”

Professor Slughorn returned his attention to the potion, and genuinely appeared to be considering it. Hermione was…shocked. Had she just talked him into it? Honestly, it was dark magic. It should be an immediate no. No matter how academically interesting it was. Slughorn finished reading it through and looked up at Malfoy.

Malfoy, in turn, looked desperate. His eyes pleading.

“I’ll allow it,” Slughorn finally said.

Wait, what?

Hermione coughed. “You’ll allow it?”

“Yes,” Slughorn nodded. “I think the two of you are mature enough to understand that this is an academic experiment, and that dark magic is not to be trifled with.”

“Yes, sir,” Draco agreed emphatically. “Absolutely.”

“Excellent. Excellent,” Slughorn said as he passed the book back to Malfoy.

Hermione was lost for words.

“Now then,” Slughorn continued, “Mr. Malfoy, if I might have a word with you in my office?” He looked pointedly at Malfoy. And then to Hermione he added, “Miss Granger, you’re dismissed.”

And just like that, Slughorn started moving towards the back of the classroom to his office. She looked up at Malfoy, bewildered and shocked that this was even happening. She expected him to look smug. Triumphant. But instead he just looked relieved. Gave her a nod, and started following Slughorn.

She hitched her satchel up on her shoulder and started weaving through the workstations and stools wondering what the bloody hell they had to talk about. Granted, Slughorn was Malfoy’s head of house. But still. 

Before she left the classroom, she could hear Slughorn asking, “Would you like a cup of tea, Mr. Malfoy? How about a biscuit? I’ve been craving a biscuit all afternoon. How about you?”

And just as the door closed, Malfoy’s response, “No, professor. I’m not craving a fucking biscuit.”

-

With their potion selected, their focus now shifted to strategy. How to get all of their required ingredients, and when to start making it. The potion itself would take exactly seventy-five days to brew. But it required the petals from eight snowdrops picked by the light of a full moon, which meant they’d have to wait until at least February or March for them to emerge from the ground and bloom. It also called for the earth from a loved one's grave, which resulted in no small debate as to who might qualify for this designation.

Hermione suggested they could collect earth from Dumbledore’s grave, which caused Malfoy to laugh out loud. Rather meanly, if Hermione was being completely honest.

“You did not love Albus Dumbledore,” he told her, slightly condescendingly. “You might have respected him. Looked up to him. Admired him. But you did not love him.”

She had to agree. 

Plus, Malfoy definitely didn’t love Dumbledore, and it wasn’t entirely clear if they both had to love the deceased, or if it was sufficient if only one of them had. Or, at the very least, if one of them was indifferent. 

They considered their various grandparents or pets, until finally Malfoy had an ah-ha moment, looked at Hermione and said, “What about Dobby?”

“Dobby?” she asked, taken by surprise.

“Yeah, Dobby,” he went on with growing enthusiasm. “He saved you and your fuckwit friends, which I presume resulted in feelings of immense gratitude, if not love…and I grew up with him. He was a fixture at the manor until Potter gave him a fucking sock. When I was a kid – before I became a total arse, I mean – I definitely loved him.”

He looked at Hermione, his eyebrows raised.

“That’s brilliant, Malfoy,” Hermione grinned. “Dobby would be perfect.”

Malfoy paused. Hesitated. Ran his hand through his hair, then said, “Do you know where he’s buried?”

“I do,” Hermione assured him. “At Bill and Fleur’s cottage, near Tinworth in Cornwall.”

Malfoy rubbed his hands together. Cracked his knuckles. “We could collect the earth over Easter break,” he suggested. “We can meet in Hogsmeade, then apparate there.”

“When is Easter this year? Will it leave us enough time to brew before the end of term?”

Malfoy took a deep breath, shook his head. “We don’t have to wait to have the earth to start brewing. It’s only needed three-quarters of the way through…to thicken it, or something.”

With the trickier ingredients figured out, and a list of the remaining ingredients compiled for Professor Slughorn, Hermione created a work-back schedule to determine exactly when they should begin brewing their potion.

It was, admittedly, a lot of fun working with someone who could make an equal contribution to the thinking, planning, and execution of their schoolwork. Malfoy really was an excellent student and potioneer. And, if she was being completely honest with herself, he was very easy on the eyes. A pleasure to not only work with, but to look at, as well.

Now, if only he wasn’t so uncomfortable being around her. He was always fidgeting and shifting away. Clenching his jaw, frowning, and sometimes grimacing. His nostrils flared regularly, and his eyes darkened. She couldn’t figure out what it was about her that repulsed him so much. 

Mercifully, he managed to put his misgivings aside to complete their schoolwork. 

And for that, she was grateful.

Chapter Text

In the second-to-last week of February, Malfoy came to potions class with a grin on his face. He made his way to the back of the dungeon, reached into the pocket of his robes, pulled something out and slammed it onto the tabletop triumphantly.

It was a snowdrop.

Hermione looked up at him with an equally large smile. “Where did you get this?” she asked. She’d been scouring the grounds looking for signs of the early blooming flower, but with no success. She assumed it was due to the colder than usual season they were having.

“The Forbidden Forest,” he replied as he took his seat and shifted it over, increasing the distance between them. By this point Hermione had stopped feeling insulted by his insulting behaviour. It was just…something he did. They got along just fine otherwise.

“What were you doing in the Forbidden Forest?” she asked.

He frowned. “Looking for snowdrops…?” he replied as if it were obvious.

“Alone?”

He inhaled deeply, his nostrils going wide, then slowly exhaled. Like it was difficult for him to answer her.

“Alone,” he confirmed. “If there aren’t any blooms elsewhere on the grounds by next Thursday, I’ll go in again and grab what we need for the potion.”

Hermione stopped to think for a moment. “Is Thursday a full moon?” she asked. 

“It is,” he confirmed.

“Then I’ll go with you,” she declared.

“Absolutely not,” he shook his head. Shifted in his chair. Ran a hand over his face.

“Malfoy,” Hermione said, one hand on her hip, “this is our project. We do everything together.”

“Not this,” he said firmly. “Why don’t I do this, and you get the earth from Dobby’s grave? That way it’s even.”

“No,” she insisted. “I’m coming with you.”

Malfoy stared at her a moment, biting his lips. Took another deep breath.

“Fine,” he finally said tightly. “But we’re checking the entire grounds every fucking day from now until then to look for another source.”

“Fine,” Hermione agreed.

“And we only go into the Forbidden Forest as a last resort. Deal?”

“Deal.”

He tossed his head to get his fringe out of his eyes. His incredibly blue eyes. Hermione found it hard not to stare at them. At their intensity.

“Every night after dinner?” Malfoy asked.

“What?” Hermione asked. She had lost the plot while admiring Malfoy’s eyes.

“We’ll look for snowdrops,” he elaborated, giving her a strange look.

“Oh, right,” she nodded. “Yes. After dinner is good.”

“Good.” His eyes flicked to the front of the class where Slughorn was getting ready to start his lesson. “Bring your cloak down to dinner, and I’ll come fetch you from the Great Hall.”

“You’ll fetch me?” she asked. “You won’t already be there?”

“No, Granger,” he answered. “I don’t eat in the Great Hall.”

And with that he shifted his chair and Professor Slughorn started speaking. Hermione had to scramble to pull out her parchment and quills and begin taking notes, leaving her no opportunity to think about Malfoy’s statement, or question him about it.

-

Malfoy walked into the Great Hall just as dinner was finishing up. He scanned the Gryffindor table, made eye contact with Hermione, and walked towards her. When he arrived, standing on the opposite side of the table from her, she was just finishing her pot roast.

“I’m almost done,” she said, taking a gulp of pumpkin juice.

“No rush,” he replied, frowning, and looking at who was sitting on the bench just in front of him and facing Hermione. “Move over?” he asked Neville, who looked back and practically jumped out of his skin when he saw it was Malfoy who’d spoken to him.

Malfoy’s frown deepened. “Fuck, Longbottom. Nobody’d ever believe it was you who chopped off Nagini’s head, if we hadn’t all seen it.”

“You can have my spot,” Neville told Malfoy nervously, as he stood up. “I’m headed up to the common room anyway.” Neville glanced at his friends still sitting at the table, then looked at Malfoy and bolted.

Malfoy shook his head, then climbed over the bench and sat down in Neville’s place across from Hermione. 

“You’re sure there’s no rush?” she asked, eyeing her as yet untouched pudding.

Malfoy followed her gaze and smirked. “I’m sure,” he said. Then he looked at Harry and Ron, both of whom were staring, and narrowed his eyes. “Can I help either of you?”

“Why do you want to brew a potion to bring the dead back to life?” Harry asked straightforwardly.

Malfoy grimaced. “To see if we can,” he replied.

“Bring back the dead?” Harry clarified.

“No.” Malfoy shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Just to see if we can brew it,” he answered. “It’s a complicated potion. A challenge, if you will.”

“There’s not someone you want to bring back?” Harry pushed.

“No, Potter. There are no nefarious ulterior motives behind our choice in potion. Just…academic curiosity.”

Hermione couldn’t help noticing he’d included her in that statement. Our choice.

Ron snorted and shook his head. “Like we’d believe anything you say,” he muttered maliciously.

Malfoy’s nostrils flared for a moment and his jaw clenched. So did his fist, for that matter, turning his knuckles white. Whiter. He was already so incredibly pale.

“Ronald,” Hermione interjected. “That wasn’t necessary.” Then to Malfoy she said, “Come on, let’s go before we lose the light.”  

She stood up, watching him. Waiting for him to join her.

He gave Ron one last sneer, then got up and they both walked towards the exit, each of them still on opposite sides of the table.

-

They spent the evening walking the grounds looking for snowdrops. 

And while they didn’t find any, Hermione did discover that Malfoy didn’t seem nearly as fidgety or uncomfortable around her when they were outside. He actually walked next to her, though he did seem determined not to allow their arms to brush against one another.

All the same, it was kind of nice.

-

The week ended with transfiguration and a real doozy of an assignment. Hermione couldn’t wait to get started on it that weekend. She packed her things, and looked towards the back of the class where Malfoy always sat with Theodore Nott, and caught his eye. He nodded briefly, picked up his satchel – from which he’d never taken anything out – and casually walked to the front of the class. He stopped in front of her, crossed his arms, leaned against her desk and looked at her pile of notes, then up at her, raising his eyebrows.

“So we’ll meet after dinner?” she asked.

They were still searching for snowdrops.

He sucked at his teeth, and nodded. “Let’s meet outside, in the clock tower courtyard,” he suggested. “I’m tired of having to play nice with your Gryffindor buddies while you finish eating.”

Hermione couldn’t help smiling. “But you’ve been doing so well,” she said cheekily. “There hasn’t been a single fistfight or duel…”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “So what are you saying? You don’t want to meet outside the clock tower?”

“No, no,” Hermione chuckled. “Outside the clock tower is fine. I’ll take my dessert to go so you’re not waiting too long.”

“You do eat rather slowly,” he frowned.

“It’s because I chew properly,” she informed him loftily.

Now it was Malfoy’s turn to smile – it was a slow, sly smile that grew gradually on his lips and showed his perfectly straight teeth. “I guess that explains the difference between you and those Neanderthals you sit with, then.” 

Hermione opened her mouth to defend her friends, then shut it, realising she had nothing to say. Most of the boys she sat with really did eat like barbarians. They had no manners at all.

He nodded knowingly, smirked, and pushed off her desk. “I’ll see you later,” he said, and walked out of the room.

Hermione watched him leave, noting how gracefully he moved in comparison to…well, to her apparently barbarian buddies. She shook her head and finished collecting her things, throwing her books, notes, quills, ink pot and wand into her satchel, then slung it over her shoulder. She headed out the door and down the hallway, taking her favourite route back to Gryffindor Tower – it was slightly longer, but avoided the most overcrowded hallways.

As she made her way down an abandoned fourth floor corridor, her footsteps echoing on the flagstone, someone silently caught up with and fell in step with her. 

“Hermione,” Ron said somewhat breathlessly, taking her completely by surprise.

“What are you doing here, Ron?” Hermione asked, somewhat unnerved by the manner of his approach.

“I need to talk to you,” he said. “ Now .”

He took hold of her elbow rather forcefully, and guided her into a hidden alcove covered by a tapestry. He took her satchel off her shoulder, tossed it on the floor, then pulled out his wand and cast a silencing charm.

“Ron, what’s going on?” she asked with growing alarm. Why did he need a silencing charm to talk to her?

He ran a hand over his face as he paced within the confined space of the alcove, looked at her and frowned. “You didn’t even acknowledge the card I gave you last week,” he said petulantly.

Oh. He wanted to discuss their ‘relationship’ and the card he’d given her for Valentine’s Day.

“Because there was nothing to say,” she told him with a sigh. “I don’t want to get back together. You know that.”

“But why?” he asked, an edge to his voice. 

Hermione shook her head. “You and I…” she searched for a way to explain this to him – yet again – that he would understand, “…we just don’t work together. In theory , we do. In theory we’re perfect. But in practice? No.”

“No?” he repeated incredulously, stepping into her personal space and backing her up against the wall. “No? I seem to recall you crying out ‘yes’ on more than one occasion.” He placed his hands on her hips and held her against the wall, stepping closer. He leaned into her, his breath hot against the side of her face. Her neck.

“Ron, please…” Hermione said, breathing rapidly. 

She felt herself starting to panic and her whole body broke out into a cold sweat. She felt tingly and light-headed, like she was going to hyperventilate. Every single fibre of her being told her to get away from Ron this instant. That he wasn’t himself. That even though she’d trusted him with her life on so many past occasions, she couldn’t trust him right now. 

She tried desperately to calm herself. To speak authoritatively. 

“Ronald, back away from me,” she said, attempting to angle her head away so she could look up at him and make eye contact as he pushed her harder against the wall. “Please,” she said again.

“Please?” he repeated. “Please? I’ve been begging you for months, Hermione…” He ran his hands down her thighs. Started pulling up her skirt. “Asking you over and over again to give me another chance. To let me make things right…” 

His hands touched her bare skin, and Hermione felt a wave of fear roll over her. She tried to push him away, to push against his chest, but he was too bloody big. Like all the boys in eighth year, he wasn’t a boy anymore – he was a man. And a rather large one, at that. She tried desperately to squirm away, but he gripped her hips tightly, his fingers digging into her flesh.

“Ronald, please,” Hermione tried desperately, still pushing against him and looking desperately for her bag, trying to silently accio her wand. “Don’t do this. Don’t do something you can never take back…”

“You don’t understand Hermione,” he said into her ear, his voice low and husky. “I already lost you….there’s nothing left to lose.”  

***

He released his iron grip on one hip and moved his hand over, rubbing it over her knickers. Over her core. Hermione whimpered in fear, and tried to pull her knee up to block his access. When that didn’t work, she tried to knee him, but he was too close. There was no space between them. No leverage. He just leaned in and pushed his erection against her as he moved her knickers aside and ran his fingers along her bone dry folds. 

“Ron, no…” she tried again desperately, pushing and clawing at him as he held her firmly against the wall with one arm pressing against her chest, making it hard to breathe. 

He pulled his other hand out of her knickers, spat on his fingers. Pulled her skirts back up, pulled her knickers down, and dipped his wet fingers back into her folds. He ran them back and forth and over her clit, then forced them into her slit.

“ No… ” she screamed. “ No, no, no… ” as she frantically clawed and hit him. 

***

The events that followed were a bit of a blur. 

Hermione couldn’t say for sure what had happened. She knew that the tapestry had been torn off the wall. She heard a snarl, saw a pale hand firmly grab Ron’s shoulder and pull him off of her. Throw him against the opposite wall of the alcove. 

The hand belonged to an angel, all white and glowing.

No. 

That wasn’t right.

It was Malfoy.

The pale hand was Malfoy’s.

Malfoy had pulled Ron off of her.

Thrown him against the wall. Hard from the sound of it. Winding him.

“Stay the fuck away from her,” Malfoy sneered. He turned away from Ron and looked at Hermione, his blue eyes more blue and intense than she’d ever seen them before.

“Are you okay, Hermione?” he asked. He went to move towards her. Hesitated. His pale brows drawn together.

Hermione nodded as she pulled up her knickers and smoothed her skirts down, gulping breaths of air, unable to look up at the moment.

“This isn’t your business,” Ron said menacingly as he pushed himself off the wall. He stepped towards Malfoy.

“Back off, Weasley,” Malfoy said over his shoulder. His voice was low. Calm. Cold.

“What’s it to you, anyway?” Ron asked with contempt.

Malfoy turned around to face Ron, keeping himself between Hermione and her aggressor and narrowed his eyes.

“Are you fucking serious?” he asked, stepping towards the other man. His fingers flexed at his sides.

Ron squared his shoulders and held his head up high. “I’m not afraid of you, you know.”

“Well that’s a mistake,” Malfoy replied icily. “You should be.” 

The two men stood staring at each other for what felt an eternity to Hermione who just wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. But she couldn’t. She wouldn't. Not here. Not right now.

She could see a series of thoughts and emotions flicker across Ron’s face as he looked at her saviour, and over his shoulder at her. She couldn’t see Malfoy’s face – only the back of his head. His silver hair. 

She had no idea what kind of silent communication was happening between them. Ron’s eyes grew wide, he huffed, ran his hands through his hair, and said, “Fuck this,” to Malfoy. 

Then he looked at Hermione and spat, “Fuck you, ” and strode away.

As soon as Ron was gone, Hermione started trembling. The sobs she’d been repressing bursting forth. Malfoy turned to look at her. Clenched his teeth, then closed the space between them, taking her in his arms, holding her. She buried her face in his chest and cried. Wrapped her arms around him and held on tightly. Took comfort in the way he rubbed her back. In how he whispered that it was all over, and that she was safe. 

She was safe.

Now. Here. In his arms.

It was strange, really – how she could feel so safe and take solace from this man who had once been her torment. From his sinewy arms. His hard, lean body. His reassuring mutterances. How he’d started calling her Hermione.

What was stranger still, was how cold he was. How he seemed to shake almost as much as she did. 

- 

They didn’t go looking for snowdrops that evening.

Hermione was unwilling to go to the Gryffindor common room just yet, or the Great Hall for dinner. Malfoy took a moment, sighed, and then made some sort of decision. He picked Hermione’s satchel up off the floor, slung it over his shoulder and took her hand in his, wrapping his long cold fingers around her warm ones. 

“Come on,” he said, and gently led her through abandoned hallways and back staircases to the castle basement. 

They didn’t go to the Slytherin dungeons, as she expected, but rather they ended up near the Hufflepuff common room and kitchens. Malfoy seemed to know his way around well, as he walked up to the large painting of a bowl of fruit, tickled the pear, and turned the resulting door handle. He opened it up, then ushered Hermione through.

Inside, it was a flurry of activity as house elves ran to and fro preparing and carrying food to four long tables, mirroring those up above in the Great Hall.

Malfoy skirted around, making his way to the back of the kitchens, to a much smaller table and sitting area in front of a roaring hearth. He let go of Hermione’s hand, draped their bags on the back of a chair, pulled off his robe and sat down, rolling up his shirt sleeves.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing with his chin.

Hermione looked around herself, feeling somewhat lost.

“What are we doing here?” she asked.

“Getting something to eat? Some tea? Hiding out? Take your pick,” he replied, shifting his chair so he was sitting next to the table, rather than at it, stretching his legs out in front of him.

A pretty and well-dressed house elf danced over to them. “Mr. Draco,” she said, “are you being ready for your dinner?”

“Yeah, Gilly, that’d be great. Thanks.” He looked up at Hermione, who was still standing. She was still in shock. Still unsure how to proceed. “You want something to eat?” he asked.

“Yes,” she nodded absentmindedly. Then, to the house elf, she added, “Please…”

The house elf disapparated with a crack.

Hermione took a seat at the round table. Looked at Malfoy. “This is where you eat?” she asked.

He nodded, scratched the stubble on his chin.

“Why?”

“I have a special diet, Hermione.”

She frowned. “Other people have special diets. They still eat up in the Great Hall….”

He shook his head. “It’s not a question of cutting out lactose or gluten or meat….” he hesitated, grimaced slightly. “It’s a different sort of diet I’m on. One that….” he jiggled his leg a bit, “...one that we wouldn’t want anyone else at my table eating by accident,” he finished lamely, not satisfied with his answer but unable to formulate a better one.

“But Malfoy—” Hermione started.

“Drop it, Hermione. Please,” he cut her off. 

Something about the look on his face convinced her to do so. She nodded, agreeing to drop it.

The house elf re-apparated and placed an overfull plate of food in front of her. 

“Here is being your dinner, Miss Hermione,” she said with a smile. 

She looked at Malfoy. 

“Mr. Draco, your dinner is being…” she paused, searching for her words, “....not quite right tonight. Gilly is reheating last night’s leftovers.” 

She gave Malfoy a meaningful look that he appeared to understand. 

“It is just being a few more minutes,” she told him. Then, to both of them, she asked, “Can Gilly be getting you anything to drink?”

“Pumpkin juice would be nice,” Hermione replied.

“Just water,” Malfoy said.

Gilly curtsied and disapparated again. She returned a few minutes later with their glasses and Malfoy’s dinner which, to Hermione, looked just like some sort of vegetable pasta.

They ate in silence for a few minutes before Malfoy cleared his throat. 

“About tonight,” he started, “you should talk to Headmistress McGonagall. I’ll go with you, if you want some…support. Backup.”

Hermione took a large gulp of juice. Shook her head. 

“Malfoy,” she said, “I still can’t even believe what happened. I can’t imagine the drama, pain and uproar it would cause if I…if I said anything. If I told anyone. What would Harry think? The Weasley’s? I can’t be the cause of it.”

He frowned, and finished chewing the food in his mouth. 

“ You wouldn’t be the cause of anything ,” he pointed out. “That fucking weasel is to blame. For all of it, Hermione. You do understand that, don’t you?”

She nodded, slowly.

There was something she didn’t get, though. Something she couldn’t figure out. She stopped nodding and cocked her head to the side. 

“What I don’t understand is how you came upon us, Malfoy….don’t get me wrong,” she clarified, “I will be eternally grateful you did…but Ron cast a silencing charm.”

Malfoy took a long drink of water, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each gulp. He put his glass down and replied, “Mustn’t have been a very good one.” 

He shrugged, very noticeably not looking at her.

In the end, Malfoy was unable to convince Hermione to tell the headmistress, or anyone else about Ron’s actions. He’d even tried to convince her to go to the authorities. But she wouldn’t hear of it. Couldn’t bring herself to do it.

His nostrils flared in irritation.

“So what?” he asked her, “You’re just going back to the Gryffindor common room tonight like nothing’s happened?”

“I don’t think I have any choice,” she said quietly.

“But you do ,” he insisted, leaning towards her, his eyes imploring.

“No,” Hermione repeated. “I won’t do that. I can’t.”

“Fuck me,” he muttered. “Your fucking Gryffindor loyalty is misplaced, Hermione. You don’t owe him anything .”

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I know,” she nodded. “I just….need time to think about it. To process what happened. To decide what to do.”

“Well, if you change your mind, my offer still stands,” he said, standing up and looking down at her with exasperation. “I’ll walk you up to your common room.”

“It’s not necessary, Malfoy, it’s completely out of your way.”

He gave her a look. “I’m walking you up,” he said firmly, closing the topic for debate.

-

When they got up to Gryffindor Tower, Malfoy was visibly conflicted.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, looking up at him as he paced in front of the Fat Lady’s portrait.

“I don’t like you going in there alone,” he admitted, running his hands over his face. “Let me come in with you,” he proposed. “Make sure that motherfucker isn’t in there waiting for you.”

“Malfoy, you can’t come into Gryffindor Tower….”

“Says who?” he looked at her, his eyebrows raised.

“Says me,” the Fat Lady responded, looking indignant.

Malfoy bit his lips, looking at the portrait. “With all due respect…” he narrowed his eyes, unsure how to refer to the portrait, “...under present circumstances, I think an exception might be made.”

The Fat Lady raised her chin, looked down at Malfoy haughtily. 

“And what circumstances might those be?” she asked imperiously.

He looked at the portrait, considering.

“Malfoy…” Hermione warned.

“Her housemate attacked her,” he said quickly, and crossed his arms, staring the portrait down. Decidedly not looking at Hermione, who was fuming.

The Fat Lady looked shocked. 

“No!” she exclaimed. “Impossible….not a fellow Gryffindor!”

“I assure you, it is quite possible, Madam.” The portrait looked scandalised, but seemed to appreciate the term of respect. “I just want to make sure she gets in safely,” Malfoy added.

“Very well, then,” the portrait decided. “I’ll allow it.”

“Thank you,” Malfoy said with evident relief.

To Hermione, she said, “Just make sure he doesn’t hear you give the password.”

Hermione nodded and walked past Malfoy, giving him a very dirty look. He backed off, allowing her to whisper the password to the Fat Lady. Then the portrait opened, and she waited for him to join her.  

She stepped through the portrait hole first and entered the common room, looking around. An icy cold feeling ran down her spine when she saw him.

Ron. 

He was sitting on a sofa talking to Harry, looking completely normal. Like nothing had happened to almost ruin her life. Like he hadn’t destroyed what little was left of their friendship. Forever. 

She stopped short. Didn’t know what to do.

“Hermione?” Malfoy asked from behind her. She moved over so he could enter the room. See who was there. See that his concern for her had been justified.

“Motherfucking cocksucker,” he spat out as soon as he saw Ron. He clenched his jaw and stepped protectively in front of Hermione.

Both Ron and Harry stood as soon as they saw the Slytherin. 

“What is he doing here?” Harry asked, frowning and looking around Malfoy at Hermione for an explanation.

“Making sure Hermione gets in safe,” Malfoy responded for her. When he saw Harry’s confused look, he went on, “Didn’t Weasley tell you Potter?”

“Tell me what?” Harry asked, looking between the three of them.

“It’s nothing, Harry,” Ron interjected. “He’s just trying to stir up shit. You can’t trust a word he says.”

“So let me get this straight, Weasley,” Malfoy said, turning his attention to the redhead. “What you did to Hermione earlier was…. nothing ?” He raised his shoulders at the end of his sentence, looking incredulous. Livid. Like he might completely lose it.

“Malfoy…don’t,” Hermione pleaded from behind him, placing a hand on his arm. 

Malfoy shivered at her touch, but didn’t back down.

“What did you do?” Harry turned to Ron, looking alarmed.

“Yes, Weasley. What did you do?” Malfoy asked, repeating Harry’s question.

Ron looked between the three of them, landing on Hermione. He narrowed his eyes, then looked at Harry. “Nothing,” he said nonchalantly. “I didn’t do anything.”

Harry looked at Malfoy, then at Hermione, “What’s going on?” 

Hermione looked up at him. Pushed her hair behind her ears, “I don’t want to talk about it right now. Not tonight, at least.”

“But something did happen?” he asked.

Hermione nodded.

Malfoy snorted in disgust, closed his eyes, and shook his head. He appeared to be considering something, coming to some kind of decision. When he opened his eyes, they were an almost shocking shade of blue. He turned to face Ron. 

Before anyone could think, say, or do anything, he’d closed the distance between them and punched Ron squarely in the face.

The punch threw him back, crashing to the floor. Draco leapt on top of Ron, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and pulled him up so he could punch him again. And then again.

“Malfoy, stop!” Hermione shouted.

He did stop. Snarling in frustration, his fist poised, and ready to strike again. 

“That’s enough,” Hermione said.

Malfoy let go of Ron, letting him fall back to the floor. He turned and looked at Hermione, breathing deeply. 

“That’s not nearly enough,” he said quietly.

She walked over to him, looked up imploringly and put her hand on his arm. Felt him shudder beneath her touch. Saw his nostrils flare as he took a deep breath, then clenched his jaw.

He nodded. Stepped away.

Ron wiped at his bloodied face, twisted and ugly with anger and jealousy. Rage . “You’ll regret this, Malfoy,” he hissed as he pulled himself to his feet. “I’ll get you back…”

“You try and I will rip your fucking limbs off,” Malfoy seethed. 

It didn’t come out sounding rhetorical to Hermione. More like a guarantee. To see the look on his face, she believed it.

Malfoy very intentionally turned away from Ron. He looked at Hermione, giving her his full focus, his expression softening. “I’ll wait until you’re in the dorms safely before I go,” he told her. 

Ron, probably rather predictably, grimaced, pulled out his wand and sent a hex flying towards Malfoy’s back. 

Malfoy, however, seemed to know exactly what Ron was up to. With his head cocked slightly to the right he cast a silent and wandless shield charm against the hex, sending it ricocheting back towards the common room hearth. It was…a very impressive piece of spellwork on Malfoy’s part. A cheap shot on Ron’s.

Malfoy turned around, clearly ready for a fight. Possibly ready to murder Ron. 

“Do you want to do this right now, Weasley? Get it over with?” He took a step towards Ron, his features thunderous.

“No,” Harry interrupted, stepping between the two men, his arms outstretched placatingly. “He doesn’t,” and looked pointedly at Ron. Then, to Hermione, he said, “Let’s all just call it a night. Cool down. We’ll discuss this tomorrow, okay?”

Hermione nodded. “Okay, Harry. We’ll talk tomorrow.” 

She looked at Ron for a fleeting moment, then turned to Malfoy. Took his ice cold hand in hers, felt it tremble slightly and watched him wince. 

“Thank you, Malfoy.” She tried to convey everything she was feeling in those few words. Her eternal gratitude. 

He was still on edge — whether due to Ron, or the fact Hermione was still holding his hand, she couldn’t say — the only response she got from him was a curt nod. 

She let go of his hand. 

She was done. Exhausted. Both physically and emotionally. She turned and made her way to the girl’s dormitories. As she rounded the corner and started climbing the stairs, she heard Malfoy’s signature drawl, “It’s awfully red in here, isn’t it?”

Chapter Text

It was with great reluctance that Hermione went down to the common room the next morning. She was relieved to find only Harry and Ginny sitting together on a sofa, and absolutely no sign of Ron.

“Is he here?” she asked hesitantly from the doorway.

Harry looked up and shook his head. “No, he’s not even in Gryffindor Tower. Ended up in the hospital wing because he couldn’t breathe properly. Seems his nose was pretty badly broken.”

Ginny looked from her boyfriend to Hermione and asked, “You wanna tell me why Draco bloody Malfoy broke my brother’s nose? And in the Gryffindor common room, no less?”

Hermione rubbed her face. Sighed. Then went to join Harry and Ginny on the sofa, sitting sideways to face them, twisting her fingers together nervously.

“Yesterday after transfiguration…” she started, “Ron caught up with me in the fourth floor corridor. Pulled me into an alcove.” She took in a shaky deep breath. “Said we needed to talk…that I…that I didn’t respond to the card he’d sent me…”

Ginny groaned. “I told him not to send you anything. That he was just setting himself up for rejection.”

“Yes, well…” Hermione continued uncomfortably, “I didn’t really discuss it with him…I didn’t want to. He’s known for ages I’ve no interest in getting back together. He…he didn’t take it very well.” 

She could feel her cheeks getting hot, and her chest and neck as well. She knew they’d be going all splotchy red, as they were wont to do when she was upset.

“What do you mean ‘he didn’t take it well’?” Harry prompted.

“He shouted. Pushed me against the wall. Pinned me to it with his arm against my chest…” She could feel the tears pricking the backs of her eyes. Took a deep breath to continue, but couldn’t.

“Did he hit you?” Harry asked.

“No.”

“But he did more than just push you?”

“Yes,” she nodded, as her tears accumulated and started down her cheeks.

Harry frowned. Pushed his glasses up and took a deep breath. “Hermione…” he started slowly, as if trying to come up with a gentle way of getting to the crux of the issue, “...was Malfoy overreacting when he started punching Ron?”

Hermione shook her head. “No.”

Harry took an even deeper breath. Ran his hand over his mouth and chin, muttering, “Fuck…” under his breath.

Ginny looked confused. “What are you saying, Hermione?” she asked, her eyes wide. Harry squeezed Ginny’s thigh in warning, but his attempt at subtlety went unnoticed. “What did Ron do? Why was Malfoy in our common room? Why the fuck did he hit Ron? ”

Hermione took a deep breath, and let it out very slowly before answering. “When Malfoy found us, Ron had me pinned against the wall, his hand in…” she swallowed, “...in my knickers.”

“He had his hand where ?” Ginny screeched. 

-

Like Malfoy, Harry had tried to convince Hermione to speak to the headmistress or to the authorities. At the very least to Mrs. Weasley. But Hermione was adamant she didn’t want anyone knowing what had happened. She was too ashamed. Too humiliated she hadn’t been able to fight Ron off. That she’d needed rescuing. Wasn’t she supposed to be the brightest witch of her age? A brave and courageous Gryffindor? A member of the DA? Hadn’t she taken a self-defence course? Wasn’t she a feminist, for Godric’s sake?

She couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Not yet at least.

She was thoroughly conflicted by the fact she was both appalled that Ron had ended up in the hospital wing, but also secretly pleased and slightly disappointed Malfoy hadn’t broken any more bones. She was pretty sure he could have, if she hadn’t called him off.

Harry instructed his and Hermione’s closest friends to never leave her alone with Ron – the fact they agreed without question was a relief. They all knew he’d taken the breakup poorly. 

-

Hermione spent a lot of time with Malfoy over the next few days looking for snowdrops.

They didn’t find any.

He did, however, confirm there were still patches of them growing in abundance deep within the Forbidden Forest where less snow had accumulated.

He did not elaborate as to why he’d been in the Forbidden Forest in the first place, or how often he went there.

-

“So when should we meet to head into the forest?” Hermione asked as they were cleaning up their potions workstation. 

It was Thursday and it would be a full moon that night. If they were going to keep to their brewing schedule, it was their one and only chance to collect the snowdrops for their potion.

Malfoy grimaced. “When it’s dark,” he replied.

Hermione rolled her eyes and hit him on the arm with the scroll she’d been rolling up. “I know that , you twit. I meant at what time? And where?”

He chuckled and rubbed his arm absentmindedly. Squinted his eyes, thinking, then looked down at Hermione with his nostrils slightly flared.

“Nine?”

She frowned. “Why so late? It gets dark early.”

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “Gives us time to eat. Get some homework done…” He cocked his head. “Our transfiguration assignment is due tomorrow.”

“I know,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “I finished mine three days ago.” 

Did he really think she’d leave it to the last minute?

Malfoy nodded in acknowledgement of her excellent planning and execution skills. “Well, I didn’t.”

“No?” He really didn’t seem the type to leave things to the last minute.

“No,” he replied. “I’ve been…distracted.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I just have the conclusion to write – shouldn’t take too long.” He frowned, considering. “Maybe nine-thirty would be safer?”

“Okay, nine-thirty it is. Where?”

“Outside the main entrance. It’s the most direct route to the Forbidden Forest – straight across the grounds.” 

Hermione nodded. “Okay. Nine-thirty at the main entrance.”

“ Outside the main entrance,” Malfoy specified.

Hermione nodded in exasperation. 

It really wasn’t in her imagination. As she’d discovered over the past week searching for snowdrops, Malfoy really did prefer to be outside when he was with her.

“Okay, okay,” she agreed. “Nine-thirty, outside the main entrance.”

-

After dinner, Hermione headed back up to Gryffindor Tower with Neville, Harry and Ginny. Ron remained in the Great Hall with Dean and Seamus, staring daggers at her back.

You’d think he’d show a little more appreciation considering she hadn’t reported him to anyone. Hadn’t ruined his life and future career chances.

Arse.

Once they’d all clambered through the portrait hole, Hermione took Harry aside. 

“Hey Harry, I don’t suppose I could borrow the invisibility cloak tonight?”

Harry pushed up his glasses. “Of course,” he replied, then frowned. “What do you need it for?” 

“Malfoy and I are collecting our snowdrops tonight,” she told him.

“Right. Sure. No problem.” He hesitated visibly, then took a deep breath. “It goes without saying Hermione…be careful, yeah? There are a lot of dangerous things in the Forbidden Forest.”

“I know,” Hermione assured him. “I will be constantly vigilant.”

Harry smiled at the reference. “Seriously, though….I know you’ll be with Malfoy, and he’s….” he shook his head. “He’s different from how he used to be….faster. Stronger. And apparently your knight in shining armour…but don’t let him lull you into a sense of security. You need to watch him, too.”

“What are you saying, Harry?”

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted, running his hand back through his hair, then forward again, leaving it a complete and utter mess. “He’s just…. different . I can’t pinpoint exactly how, but he is. You know?”

Hermione did know. 

But she liked her potions partner. She liked this version of Malfoy.

She nodded.

“I’ll be careful,” she reassured Harry.

-

At nine-thirty on the dot, Hermione emerged from the main entrance concealed by Harry’s invisibility cloak. She saw Malfoy leaning nonchalantly against the stone balustrade bordering the steps up to the school’s large front doors.

He wasn’t wearing his school or outdoor robes, but rather a short jacket which didn’t seem nearly warm enough for the weather. His Slytherin scarf was thrown carelessly around his neck, and his bare hands were buried deep in his trouser pockets. He didn’t wear a hat and it was obvious he was frowning. His jaw clenched.

As she made her way over the stone porch, his nostrils flared. His frown deepened. 

“Hermione?” he called out. He took a step away from the balustrade. A step towards her.

Hermione pouted. How did he do that?

She pulled off the invisibility cloak – her hair full of static – and looked at him in consternation.

“ How did you know I was here?” she asked. She looked around. She was positive he’d been looking away when she’d exited the school and the porch had been cleared of snow so there were no footprints.

He just looked at her with curiosity. “Where’d you get the invisibility cloak?” he asked instead.

“From Harry,” she replied as she started folding it up and put it into her satchel.

“Since when has Potter had an invisibility cloak?” he followed up.

Hermione dug out her tuque, put it on her head, then looked up at Malfoy. “Since first year,” she replied.

Draco leaned forward, his expression incredulous. “Do you mean to tell me that Potter has had an invisibility cloak since first fucking year ?”

She nodded.

“Fuck me,” Malfoy exclaimed, turning around in a circle and running his hand over his face. He sighed deeply, then looked back at her. “This explains so much .” 

He looked irritated. Hermione just shrugged.

“What have you got it for, though?” he asked, looking completely confused.

“What do you mean?” Hermione replied.

He sighed. “I mean why do you need an invisibility cloak?”

Hermione looked nonplussed. “Well,” she started, slightly uncomfortable, “Ron was in the common room when I was leaving, and…and I figured it’d be after curfew when we get back…”

Malfoy almost burst out laughing. “After curfew?” he spluttered. “Hermione, you’re what? Eighteen?”

“Nineteen,” she corrected.

“You’re an adult, Hermione. The school can’t stop you from leaving its grounds, or tell you when to go to bed.”

Hermione jutted her lower jaw out, thinking.

“Fuck,” she said, half under her breath, and then looked at Malfoy. “I never even thought of that.” How had she not thought of that? 

Malfoy just shook his head, still chuckling to himself. “Come on, let’s get this over with,” he finally said. He watched her closely until she joined him, before setting out to cross the grounds towards the forest.

It was dark out, but the moon was bright, lighting their way and reflecting against the snow. The snow itself wasn’t particularly deep, which was a blessing – it was fairly easy to walk through. There was a thin crust of ice over it, though, which did make it loud. Crunchy.

“Did you finish your essay?” she looked up at him and asked.

He was looking straight ahead. His expression tense. He didn’t look at her when he answered, “I did.”

“With time to spare? Or did you need that extra half hour?”

Malfoy tilted his head just a little. Considering. “I’d have made it had we kept our meeting at nine, but…it would have been a rush.”

“Well, good. It all worked out then.”

“It did,” he agreed.

They were approaching Hagrid’s cottage, veering slightly to the left of it. As they passed, the door opened and Hagrid stepped out onto his front stoop. 

“That you Draco?” he called.

Malfoy stopped and very deliberately turned to face Hagrid, revealing Hermione by his side.

“Hermione!” Hagrid exclaimed. “What in blazes are yeh doin’ out here?” He hesitated a moment, looked between her and Malfoy, then added, “With ‘im?”

She smiled at her friend. “We’re headed into the forest to collect potions ingredients picked by the light of the full moon,” she informed him. “For our end of year project,” she added.

Hagrid frowned and looked at Malfoy. “Yeh didna’ find any snowdrops elsewhere?”

Malfoy shook his head, his jaw flexing.

Hermione looked between the two of them. Had Malfoy enlisted Hagrid’s help to find an alternate source of the flower?

“Tha’s too bad,” Hagrid continued. “Be extra careful in there t’night. Take care o’ Hermione, Draco. Keep yer eyes on ‘er.”

Malfoy nodded. “I will.”

“Well yeh best be goin’ then. It ain’t gettin any earlier,” he commented. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, Hagrid,” Hermione smiled. Malfoy just nodded and took her elbow, gently pulling her along for a moment to indicate they should, indeed, get going.

As they resumed their trajectory towards the forest, Hermione couldn’t help asking, “‘Take care of Hermione’? Why would Hagrid tell you that?”

“Because he wants me to take care of you,” Malfoy replied.

Hermione bristled slightly. She didn't appreciate him just repeating the statement back at her. She wanted to know why . 

“Malfoy…” she started, sounding irritated. 

He turned to look at her for the first time since they’d set out from the school and the pools of light surrounding it. Hermione took a short, sharp intake of breath. Gasped. His eyes were reflecting back the moonlight. Like two luminescent flat discs glowing bright. Like an animal. 

Malfoy had night vision.

Hermione reeled. Her mind racing. 

Malfoy didn’t acknowledge her reaction. Just kept walking. 

She dropped the subject and focused instead on trying to keep up with him.

“Wands out,” he said, as they reached the forest’s edge and stepped under the canopy of trees. It was sparse here, but still made a noted difference in the moon’s ability to light their way. 

Not that Malfoy seemed to need it. 

He muttered “ Lumos ,” under his breath, and held his wand out mostly for Hermione’s benefit. She could tell. He was looking beyond the glow of their wands into the forest itself. 

Scanning. Alert.

“That’s the direction we want,” he told her, pointing his wand at a narrow path leading deeper into the woods where the trees were closer together. It was dense, with branches connecting over the pathway and creating a tunnel, so there was almost no moonlight at all. It looked like a gaping hole into….darkness. Murkiness. Nothing.

Hermione felt her heart rate spike, her nerves getting the better of her. She hadn’t even stepped foot onto the path, yet she felt claustrophobic.

Malfoy stopped and put a hand on her shoulder. She could feel how cold it was through her thick winter robes. Through her clothes. 

“There’s no shame in changing your mind,” he said. “I can bring you back to the castle, then come back to collect the snowdrops on my own.”

She shifted her weight from foot to foot, considering. There was less snow here. No crunch. Just a soft spongy feeling of snow on top of wet leaves.

Malfoy looked at her, his eyes reflecting the light of their wands, like some kind of nocturnal predator. She shivered. She wanted to ask him why they did that. But she was also afraid to ask him why they did that. 

Harry was right. 

Malfoy was different this year. Hermione was beginning to suspect he was even more different than they ever could have possibly imagined.

She bit her lips, looking up at him. As was always the case when he was near her, his jaw was clenched. His nostrils slightly flared. His eyebrows drawn together.

“When Hagrid asked you to take care of me…” she started. Pulled a hair out of her mouth and continued, “…it’s because he thinks you can? Take care of me in there?” She pointed towards the forest with her chin to the dark path ahead.

Malfoy’s eyes never left Hermione’s face. He swallowed visibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He nodded. 

“He knows I can,” he replied. Held out his hand.

Hermione took a deep breath. If Hagrid trusted Malfoy enough to take care of her in the Forbidden Forest, that was good enough for her. She took his hand in hers — it was so bloody cold — and they walked towards the path together. 

As soon as they stepped onto it, they were immediately enveloped by darkness. The lumos from their wands created only eerie little orbs of light, floating in black. Hermione’s breath hitched. “Can you see?” she asked Malfoy.

He squeezed her hand in reassurance. “Yes,” he replied. 

If Hermione was being completely honest with herself, Malfoy’s night vision was both a comfort and a concern. She was thankful, under the present circumstances, that he could see. Guide them. Keep an eye out for danger. But why – how – could Malfoy see in the dark?

They made their way down the path, their footsteps falling on soft pine needles. Muffled. Quiet. 

Her senses were in overdrive.

As quiet as they might be, there was a cacophony of sounds coming from the forest. Of the rustling of leaves. The scurrying of animals. The screeching of…well, she didn’t know what, but the sound of it was terrifying. Far off in the distance they heard howling. 

Malfoy kept them moving at a good pace. He seemed to know exactly where they were going, and he moved steadily and carefully. He pointed out roots and obstacles Hermione couldn't see as well as him, owing to the utter blackness that enveloped them and the too weak light produced from their wands. 

They heard a larger crashing noise, as if some giant was running through the forest. Heading straight towards them. Hermione gasped in fear. She tightened her grip on Malfoy’s hand and grabbed his arm with her other hand, dropping her wand in the process.

He stopped moving. Waited a moment. Squeezed Hermione’s hand. 

“It’s just a deer,” he told her.

The crashing sound came closer. She could hear its hooves pounding on the ground, the leaves and branches tearing and falling in its wake. Within moments it broke through onto the path, stopped for a split second, looked at them, and then dove into the dense brush on the other side.

“Aren’t deer usually quieter than that?” she asked as Malfoy bent down and picked up her wand.

“Not when they’re scared,” he answered, as he handed it back to her.

“What is it scared of?” she couldn’t help asking.

Malfoy shrugged. “It could be any number of things,” he replied honestly. “But my guess is the werewolf we heard howling earlier.”

“Wait…are you sure that was a werewolf?” Hermione asked, definitely more than a little concerned. She’d encountered Professor Lupin in his werewolf form in third year. It wasn’t an experience she wanted to repeat.

“Pretty sure. Yeah,” he said. Then tugged on her hand, and kept them moving.

They walked further into the dark woods. The trees slowly shifted from coniferous back to deciduous. Slightly less dense. There were hanging vines, moss, and thick spider webs, strewn from and between the branches. 

“We’re almost at the clearing,” Malfoy informed her. “This way.” He guided her off the main path and onto a smaller one. One that Hermione hadn’t even seen and assumed was exclusively used by animals. It was very narrow and they had to walk single file, Malfoy leading.

Hermione did not let go of his hand.

It was awkward, but he didn’t seem to mind and kept a firm hold of her. His icy fingers providing some comfort as the brush caught and pulled at her robes, scratching the exposed skin on her hands and cheeks.

Hermione followed Malfoy through each twist and turn until at last they came out of the narrow path, entering a large patch of brambles. They pushed through, their clothes repeatedly snagging and tearing, and emerged into an open clearing. It was roughly circular in shape, surrounded by tall moss covered trees. She looked up and she could see the sky. The moon. The stars. She looked down and saw she was standing amid a massive growth of snowdrops.

They were everywhere. Carpeting the clearing.

She looked at Malfoy in delight, and her breath caught.

Seeing him standing there with the moonlight shining down on him and reflecting off his eyes and in his silver hair, and on his pale skin…he looked almost luminescent. 

Otherworldly.

Definitely not human.

He was beautiful.

Hermione felt herself blush. She bit her lips, and let go of his hand very purposefully. They had reached their destination. Their goal. 

She smiled and spun around in the clearing, her arms spread wide. “We made it!” she said with joy, looking up at the sky.

She stopped spinning only to find Malfoy staring at her. His eyes gleaming. 

She shook her head slightly, and cleared her throat. 

“So,” she started, then hesitated, “...do we pick the petals from the eight snowdrops here in the moonlight, or do we pick eight snowdrops, and pick the petals later?”

She stared back at Malfoy, her brows furrowed.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, thinking. Rubbed his chin. Shook his head. “I don’t know. Let’s do both to be safe, and check the exact wording back at the castle.”

“Good idea,” Hermione agreed. “I’ll pick the petals, you pick the flowers?” 

He nodded, and they got to work. 

She squatted down and started picking petals, making sure to pluck them off gently, so as not to rip or bruise them. As she did so, a howl pierced the relative silence of the clearing.

She looked up nervously.

Malfoy was standing. Alert. He turned his head slightly, this way and that….seemingly assessing the situation. Whether he was listening, or smelling, or looking, Hermione didn’t know. He finally looked at her and said, “Let’s wrap this up and get going.”

“Is it close?” 

He shook his head. “Not too close. But it’ll move fast. We should go.”

He counted his snowdrops to ensure he had eight, then looked at Hermione. “How many do you have left?”

“Just one,” she answered. 

Her hands had started shaking but she managed to collect the petals from the last flower and place them in a small box she’d brought for the purpose. She collected Malfoy’s picked flowers, then stowed them all away in her satchel. She looked up at him and nodded.

He took her hand and led her back through the brambles and onto the narrow path.

They heard another howl.

Malfoy picked up the pace while Hermione did her best to keep up. Scrambling. Almost running to match the strides of his long legs. As they exited the small path onto the larger one, her foot caught a root and she stumbled. Started to fall. Faster than should have been possible, Malfoy bent over and caught her. His face suddenly right next to hers.

They looked at each other for a moment. Both of them breathing deeply. It was the closest their faces had ever been. She could see the blue of his veins beneath his smooth, white porcelain skin. His jaw clenched and he straightened, pulling her up. Getting them back on to the main path, and making their way – not quite slowly, but steadily – out of the forest.

Another howl.

And from the sound of it, much closer.

“Malfoy….” Hermione said, her voice laced with fear. 

She felt herself beginning to panic. Started breathing too rapidly. Her hands and feet – even her face – starting to tingle. If she wasn’t careful she was going to hyperventilate. She had to calm down. She had to stop. Had to breathe. She knew all of these things, but couldn’t do them. Ever since the war. Ever since the battle. Ever since Harry had died, she’d had difficulty controlling her fear and anxiety. As if she’d reached some saturation point for remaining brave in the face of danger, and her body had just said ‘enough.’

She started shaking. Gasping for breath.

Malfoy stopped. Turned and placed his hands on her shoulders, bending down so he could look deep into her eyes.

“Breathe,” he told her calmly. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll take care of you,” he assured her. 

Looking into his calm face, she believed him. She didn’t know how he could do it, but she believed it anyway. She nodded. Watched his slow deliberate breaths, and matched them. Slowed her heart rate. The feeling of pins and needles subsided.

He continued to watch her intently, a slight frown on his face. 

“You okay?” he finally asked.

She nodded. “Okay….” she repeated.

“Good….” he grimaced slightly. “Now I need you to get behind me,” he said, still looking her in the eye. “I need you to trust me, Hermione. Do you trust me?”

Hermione looked at Malfoy’s vibrant blue eyes. Reflecting the moonlight and…glowing. They were more vividly blue than she had ever seen them, and positively lustrous. She nodded.

“I trust you,” she confirmed.

He nodded, stood up straight, and turned. Standing tall in front of her. Shielding her.

She peeked around his arm and clasped her hand to her mouth, stifling a scream. On the path in front of them – not ten feet away – a werewolf had emerged from the forest. Breathing deeply. Panting. Growling. Stalking. Looking ready to pounce.

Without taking his eyes off the wolf, Malfoy backed up a step and reached his arm out protectively, ensuring Hermione was behind him. A low snarling emanated from the back of his throat. It sounded like….Hermione didn’t know what it was. It wasn’t human. It was animalistic. Primal. Dangerous. Its meaning was clear, though. It was a warning.

She could hear the wolf’s continued – almost plaintive – growling. See it pacing back and forth on the narrow path. Assessing. Trying to decide what to do.

It threw its head back and howled. Long and drawn out. Bone-chilling.

Malfoy leaned forward ever so slightly, a louder, more menacing snarl issuing from deep within his chest. Less a warning this time, rather a threat. 

The wolf stood still. Watching. Alert. Waiting. 

Malfoy cracked his neck, and then his knuckles. Took a single step forward, and let out a growl of his own. Loud and intimidating. No longer a threat, but a promise of things to come. The wolf’s eyes went wide with terror. It whimpered and bolted, running into the forest.

Hermione took a step back, watching Malfoy from behind. Beginning to wonder if her potions partner was, in fact, the greater threat. 

He turned around, his vivid blue eyes looking electric. His brows were drawn together and his teeth were clenched. He took a long, drawn out breath then held out his hand. “It’s okay, Hermione,” he said, his voice soft and reassuring. “It’s safe now.”

“Is it?” she asked, looking at him with a mix of fear and wonder. “Malfoy….what the hell just happened?”

He closed his eyes as he ran his proffered hand over his face then held it back out to her. Looked at her pleadingly. “Please, Hermione. Just take my hand. Let me bring you back to the castle.”

She didn’t move. 

In fact, Hermione felt she was remarkably calm, given what had just happened. What was happening.

“Why was that werewolf scared of you?” she finally asked.

Malfoy bit his lower lip. Looked down at his feet. Took another deep breath, then looked up at her, answering, “Because I’m higher on the food chain.”

Hermione didn’t understand. Couldn’t. What was he telling her? What was he? Something a werewolf was afraid of. What was a werewolf afraid of? She didn’t know. Her mind raced through the possibilities. 

Vampire? No. She’d seen him out during the day many times. And she’d seen him eat.

He was wholly human shaped, so he couldn’t be a satyr, faun or minotaur. He was definitely not a centaur. A demon? An orc? A Malfoy doppleganger? 

He wasn’t a corpse, so he wasn’t an inferius. 

What had pale hair and skin, glowing blue eyes, was cold and snarled?

“ Please , Hermione,” he repeated. 

“What are you?” she finally asked. She hated how much her voice was shaking.

He ran his hand through his hair, looking more and more impatient. “Will you please let me get you out of the forest?”

She crossed her arms and looked at him stubbornly.

He groaned in frustration. Paced in front of her. 

“Look,” he finally said, “I’ll tell you everything. Answer all of your questions. Tomorrow .”

“Why tomorrow? Why not now?” 

Malfoy frowned, as if he were struggling. Sighed. “Because it could take some time to explain. Time we don’t have.”

As if on cue, there was a rustle of leaves in the forest. Hermione looked into the darkness. She couldn’t see anything, of course. But when she looked at Malfoy he was looking in the same direction, and he looked…concerned. Tense. Ready to move.

“There’s something in the forest over there, isn’t there?” she asked quietly, tilting her head in the direction of the noise.

“Yes,” he replied.

She watched him, still scared of him. “I want you to tell me when we get out of the forest. Tonight.”

He shook his head. “Tomorrow.” Held out his hand.

She looked at it. Hesitating.

“I won’t hurt you,” he assured her.

She took his proffered hand, and shivered as his icy cold fingers wrapped around her own. He looked back into the forest. Into the dark depths Hermione couldn’t see, and started to walk. To guide Hermione through the path and back towards the school.

The rustling in the trees followed them for some time. Even Hermione could hear it. But whatever it was didn’t seem willing to reveal itself.

“What’s it doing?” she finally asked, unable to help herself. “Why is it following us?”

Malfoy unclenched his jaw, and looked at her for the briefest of moments. His blue eyes glowing. “It’s waiting,” he said.

“For what?”

“For scraps.”

“ What ?” Her eyes opened wide, the panic returning. 

He squeezed her hand. Almost laughed. “I told you already, Hermione. I won’t hurt you. This little fucker,” he motioned into the trees, “is just going to have to find something else to eat tonight.”

“But–” she started.

“But nothing,” he interrupted her. “You’re safe with me. Do you honestly think Hagrid would have let you come with me if you weren’t?”

“Does Hagrid know…?”

“He does.”

That…made Hermione feel better. A lot better, actually.

“Okay,” she finally said and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back reassuringly and silently guided her through the remainder of the forest path, out into the sparser trees, and finally out of the forest.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. Bending down, she rested her hands on her knees. Breathing deeply. Revelling in the crisp cool air. The lack of forest sounds.

Relieved.

She adjusted her tuque, pulling it down more snugly on her head, then looked at Malfoy. “Now tell me what you are,” she demanded, putting her hands on her hips.

He shook his head, clenched his jaw and started walking towards the castle. “Tomorrow.”

“But why tomorrow?” she asked, skipping to catch up and falling in step with him.

Malfoy looked at her. Clearly exasperated. Harassed. “Because I have to go hunt a werewolf now,” he told her.

“You what ?” Hermione squawked. “You’re going to kill it?”

Malfoy made a face. Looked at Hermione as if she were nuts. “No,” he exclaimed. “I’m not going to kill it. I’m just going to….” he hesitated, looking for the right word, “...subdue it.”

“Why?”

“So it doesn’t do something it might regret once it turns back into one of our classmates.”

Hermione put a hand out and grabbed Malfoy’s arm, stopping them. Despite the shiver she felt through his jacket, she held him firmly. “One of our classmates?”

He scratched at the stubble on his neck. “Hermione. You don’t think I’m the only one who came out of the war…different, do you?”

Hermione looked deeply into his blue eyes – no longer glowing, but still reflecting the moonlight. He was serious. How many creatures were lurking the halls of Hogwarts now? What kind of creatures? She nodded slightly and let go of Malfoy’s arm. 

They resumed walking. Retracing their footsteps from before. The snow crunched underfoot. When they got to the castle’s front entrance, Malfoy reached out and took Hermione’s elbow before she started up the steps.

“Hermione,” he started, sounding unsure of himself for the first time that night. “Don’t….you can’t….” 

He looked at her, his eyes beseeching.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she assured him. “At least not until you’ve had a chance to tell me what this is all about.” She watched his frown smooth out. “Tomorrow,” she added, just in case.

He gave her a single curt nod. “Tomorrow,” he replied. Then he spun on his heel, heading towards the greenhouses and into the darkness.

Chapter Text

Holy fucking fuck.

Draco was livid. Consumed by an all encompassing rage at the universe, at his absurdly bad luck, and at the fact they hadn’t found any snowdrops outside the Forbidden Forest. 

At whoever forgot to take their fucking wolfsbane.

He wanted to find that fucking werewolf and tear it in half.

He walked through the darkness to the sheds next to the greenhouses, went inside and rummaged around until he found what he was looking for. Rope. He coiled it up and slung it over his shoulder, exited, and made his way back across the school grounds towards the forest – muttering under his breath the whole time.

He couldn’t fucking believe this night.

He knew Hermione had suspected he was at least somewhat different, but he hadn’t been different enough for her to actually broach the topic. To ask questions.

But now ? After tonight? He’d shown his hand and there was no going back. There was no avoiding this conversation, this explanation. No avoiding everything that would follow.

Fuck, fuck, fuck .

He didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to worry about it. He had to focus. He had to find whatever fucking loser hadn’t taken their wolfsbane and ensure they never forgot again. 

He entered the perimeter of the forest, stopping where the trees were still spaced apart and stood still. Listening. Sniffing. Waiting.

A slight breeze ruffled his hair. He inhaled deeply, trying to detect even the faintest scent of the wolf on it.

He did. It was female. 

He started walking in its general direction, not worrying about following any designated path. He made a beeline straight for it, plunging into the woods among the trees and underbrush. He kept a steady pace until he caught another whiff. Confirmed the direction, and took off. He sprinted, running faster than the wolf could – faster than most creatures in the forest could. He jumped over fallen logs, ducked under branches. Brambles and thorns pulled and scratched at him, cutting his hands and cheeks, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t worry. They’d be healed within minutes. He just kept going, never running out of breath.

He stopped short when he found himself back in the clearing, standing among the snowdrops. The she-wolf was there, smelling where Hermione had been picking flowers. She looked up when Draco arrived, and immediately got into a defensive position, ferociously snarling at him.

Draco’s eyes narrowed, and he shook his head. This fucking cunt had caused him a lot of trouble tonight. He took the rope from over his shoulder, assessing the wolf, its position, and their distance from one another. He sucked at his teeth, and cocked his head. 

“Are we going to do this the easy way, or the hard way?” he asked.

It tilted its head, as if it recognised the patterns his speech made, but couldn’t process the words. Not in this form, at least.

He didn’t wait. While the wolf was still looking confused, he sprang, leaping across the small clearing and landing right in front of it. With an angry snarl, he dodged the wolf’s attempt to bite and scratch him. Moving quickly, he got behind it and knocked it off its feet. Draco dropped down and knelt on its back, pushing its face into the ground.

“Stay,” he said with a growl.

Really, it was almost too easy – especially because he wasn’t worried about getting bitten. Knew he could overpower it. 

He took the rope and wound it around the beast, tying it up tight, but left a long tail that he could hold on to. He wrapped this around his hand, and started walking, dragging the animal behind him. It gnashed its teeth and tried to lunge at him. He shook his head and backhanded it across the snout a few times before continuing along the path.

It wasn’t cooperating.

After the fourth or fifth attempt to bite him, Draco lost his patience and outright punched the werewolf in the face. Hard. The blow knocked it unconscious. He stood over its prone form, considering. Shrugged, picked it up, and slung it over his shoulder, making his way out of the forest and back to the shed.

He threw the werewolf down on the floor, grabbed a tarp and covered it up. Found himself a crate, pushed it against the wall, sat down, then leaned back and waited.

He’d been dozing when he heard the sound of cracking bones, accompanied by the cries of pain and agony of a woman. Her bones appeared to be breaking; reforming and reconfiguring themselves from a wolf back to a human. She was panting and gasping through it. Crying out.

She got shakily to her hands and knees, the ropes that had bound her no longer taut due to her smaller, human, form.

Draco watched the process with fascination. He’d never seen a werewolf transformation. It looked…painful. Agonising. He wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Especially not one of his classmates.

The woman looked up. Her long mane of wavy blonde hair falling off her face. 

It was Lavender Brown.

Draco sighed, and looked at her carefully, assessing. Was her transformation complete? It seemed to be. 

“Alright there, Brown?” he asked.

She looked around herself, confused. Pulling the tarp closer around her naked body, she nodded slightly, then focused her eyes on Draco.

“Malfoy?” she asked, her mind clearly still muddled from the transformation.

“Did you maybe forget something last night, Brown?” he asked through gritted teeth, his voice laced with ice.

She bit her lips, nodded slightly, and looked up at him. “I didn’t realise the day…” she said, still seeming muddled and disoriented. 

Draco stood up, took his jacket off and threw it at her in disgust, “Remember your fucking wolfsbane, Brown, or next time I won’t be so gentle with you.” 

He headed towards the shed door. 

“Wait!” Lavender cried out.

He paused, his hand on the door ready to push it open. Turning his head slightly, he looked at her over his shoulder. “What?” he spat.

“How did you….” she paused, trying to piece together her night, “It was you… ” she concluded. “ You caught me. You tied me up….” She looked up at him, her eyes wide, “How?”

“Never mind how,” he told her, his anger simmering just below the surface. “Just….make sure I don’t have to do it again.”

She nodded. He turned quickly and left, pushing the door open and walking out into the brilliant morning sun.

-

He had just enough time to grab a quick nap before heading to the kitchens for breakfast, and then to class.

-

By the time Advanced Transfiguration rolled around, he was wired. Running on pure adrenaline. Really, he was completely exhausted, and slightly jittery. 

He felt needy. He needed her – her scent – like an addict. He walked into the classroom and stopped in the doorway, a sense of relief washing over him. He took a deep breath. Her.

No matter how easily he could track her throughout the castle – and he knew where she was every single fucking minute of every single day – it was never as intense, as satisfying or as intoxicating, as being in the same room as her. 

He didn’t understand it. 

All he knew was that after they’d been made potions partners, after she’d walked up to him – sat – next to him, he was hooked. It felt like he’d died again and gone to heaven as her divine scent had enveloped him. Ensnared him. From that moment on, it was all he could do to stay away from her. A constant struggle to stop himself from just leaning into her and smelling the nape of her neck. Licking her. Tasting her.

Oh gods.

Draco was so desperate to taste her. He wanted to lick and worship every single fucking inch of her body. He couldn’t explain it – didn’t care to at this point – he just wanted it. 

Wanted her. 

He took a deep breath and steeled himself. Clenching his jaw, he walked to his seat at the back of the class next to Theo. He stared at the back of Hermione’s head. She was sitting at the front of the class, her curly golden brown hair forming a halo around her. She laughed at something Longbottom said, and Draco could actually smell her breath. He knew she’d eaten a pastry at lunch….something fruity. He concentrated, his nostrils flaring slightly. 

Strawberries. She’d had a strawberry tart for dessert.

He felt a nudge on his side.

“You’re staring,” Theo whispered.

Draco shook his head. “Don’t care,” he replied, willing her silently to look back at him. He was desperate to see her face. The look in her eyes.

Was she scared of him?

Had last night been too much for her?

Would she give him a chance to explain?

How was he going to explain it all?

Would he tell her as little as possible, or everything?

As he pondered what to tell Hermione, Draco barely noticed the lesson had started. McGonagall’s replacement was…okay. He wasn’t an engaging speaker or a stellar professor. Draco found the class rather tedious, if he was being honest. After the professor had droned on for some time, explaining in painful detail how to adjust and transfigure various articles of clothing, he was surprised to realise it was time for everyone to pair up and practice.

Hermione immediately stood up and walked to the back of the class, a determined look on her face. She stopped in front of Draco, cocked her head to one side and asked, “Partners?”

Draco was temporarily overwhelmed by her proximity. He clenched his teeth and just nodded, unable to speak. He slowly stood up and followed her to a corner of the classroom. She was taking off her robe. Why the fuck was she taking off her robe? As she pulled it off her shoulders, he caught an even stronger whiff of her. He smelled sweat, something floral, and cupcakes. The sweat was all her….slightly sweet and tangy. The flowery smell her shampoo, and the cupcakes her deodorant. He concentrated. Coconut and…vanilla? Yes, vanilla. The scent of it amplified by her body heat.

She looked at him and drew her eyebrows together. “Malfoy?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replied, desperate not to loom over her creepily.

“Okay,” she said sceptically. “We can use my robe to practise. If we get it right, we can move on to my skirt. Make it a little longer.”

Draco looked down at her skirt. “You’re not intending to take it off to transfigure it, are you?” 

He felt faint at the thought. At the possibility of seeing her in her knickers. Being able to smell between her legs with less obstruction.

She frowned, looking at him as if he were daft. “Of course not. If it’s just the length we’re changing, I should be able to just keep it on.”

“Right, right…” Draco agreed, not knowing what he was saying. He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to clear his head. To concentrate. It was so fucking hard. Impossible.

He was so bloody tired. He just didn’t have the energy to both resist doing something stupid, and practise their spellwork.

He let Hermione do the bulk of the work. Copied her wand movements and incantations. They managed to shrink and enlarge her robe, lengthen it, then shorten it. They took it in at the waist, and let it back out again.

“Now for my skirt,” she declared, satisfied they’d more or less mastered the process. “Will you do the honours, Malfoy?” She looked up and smiled at him.

“Yeah….sure,” he replied. 

He performed the incantation and made the requisite wand movement, causing the length of Hermione’s skirt to increase by two inches. He looked at her. Raised his eyebrows in inquiry. Was it too much? Too little?

Honestly, he thought it was way too much. Anything that covered Hermione up was a bad idea. He kept that opinion to himself.

She twisted and turned attempting to assess the length, and then finally sat down to check how high it rode up. Not nearly enough, as far as Draco was concerned.

“It’s perfect,” she declared, standing back up.

“Great,” he said with little enthusiasm.

Hermione took a deep breath. Looked around the classroom to ascertain that everyone else was busy, then looked at Draco.

“Tired?” she asked.

“Knackered,” he replied.

“How did it go…you know. After you dropped me off?”

Draco blinked slowly, thinking. “Fine,” he finally said. “I assume Brown made it back to Gryffindor Tower safely?”

Hermione’s eyes went wide, looking around the room again. “It was Lavender?” she hissed.

“That’s the only reason I’m asking after her, Hermione. That, and…” he paused a moment, shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“And?”

“I gave her my jacket to wear. You know, after she’d transformed back into herself with no clothes on…I’m guessing it’s got to be in your dorm. I don’t suppose you could try and get it back for me?”

Hermione looked at him in disbelief.

“What?” Draco shrugged. “I like that jacket…”

“And Lavender?”

“So long as she takes her wolfsbane, I couldn’t give a fuck about her,” he replied honestly.

Hermione tsked. Looked around the classroom again to ensure they were quite alone. “I spoke to Hagrid earlier,” she told him conspiratorially.

“Oh?”

“When I told him what happened, he just said he couldn’t think of anyone better suited to face a werewolf in the Forbidden Forest with than you…and that we should talk.” She put her hand on her hip. “We do need to talk.”

“I know,” Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair, grimacing slightly. He wanted to bury his face in her curls – or maybe between her legs. Either one. “After dinner?” he suggested. “We can go for a walk.” He was desperate for fresh air. To be outside where her scent didn’t overwhelm him so much. To clear his head.

Hermione frowned. “Malfoy, it’s freezing out today. I am not traipsing around the grounds with you again, because you’re….you’re….” she sighed. “I don’t know what you are. Uncomfortable with me?”

Draco squeezed his eyes shut, and rubbed them with the heels of his hands. 

“Fine,” he said, completely ignoring the second half of her comment. “Have dinner with me in the kitchens. We can talk there.”

She nodded, her curls bouncing around her head. “When?”

“At dinner time.” Obviously . “I’ll meet you in front of the Ticklish Pear.”

-

After class, Draco went back to his dorm, cast a silencing charm around his four poster bed, and had a nap. He woke up rumpled, but feeling more himself. He climbed out of bed, put on his shoes, and made his way to the common room in just his trousers and a t-shirt.

“You look like shit,” Theo supplied helpfully when Draco walked in.

“Fuck you,” he replied eloquently, and sat down on the leather sofa with a sigh. He ran his hands through his hair.

“Still smell her?” 

Theo was one of the few people who knew the extent to which Draco had changed since the battle of Hogwarts. Who knew what he had become.

It went without saying that most, if not all, of Slytherin knew he was different – it hadn’t taken long for those living with him to realise he never ate in the Great Hall, didn’t sleep as much, had an absolute excess of energy, and was all around faster, stronger, and more agile than he’d ever been before. He was also more irritable –  if that was possible – much less boastful, and much more mysterious. 

Everyone was willing to put up with his new eccentricities, though. As the house team’s return seeker, he’d won every quidditch match so far, and everyone was convinced this was the year Slytherin would finally win the quidditch cup again. Maybe even the house cup.

Draco couldn’t help but think it was a little unfair, considering the advantages he now had. But being on the quidditch team provided him much needed physical activity. The games themselves were nothing – it was the constant practice and drills that he needed to tire himself out. And when those weren’t enough, he’d go for a run. Never on the school grounds, though. He couldn’t risk anyone seeing how fast he was. 

Instead, he’d run in the forest. Hunt. Not for food, but for sport. To use those keen senses he’d acquired. It’s how he’d started helping Hagrid. Tracking and ascertaining the whereabouts of various creatures – those native to the forest, those who’d invaded it, and those who were passing through. As a result he’d developed a real respect for the groundskeeper. Hagrid knew the forest like the back of his hand – knew each and every species within it – and how to approach their care if they required it, or relations with them if they were sentient and self-governing. 

He was ashamed of his overall past shitty behaviour towards the half giant. How he’d disrespected him and tried to get him sacked. The fact that Hagrid had been able to put all of that aside and accept Draco for who – and what – he was…well…not every professor at Hogwarts had been able to do so.

And for that Draco gave the man his full respect, and wasn’t above slapping anyone upside the head who behaved otherwise.

Draco looked at Theo and nodded. He always smelled her. Couldn’t escape it.

“You’re telling her tonight?” Theo asked.

“I think I have to,” Draco replied, looking resigned, if not slightly defeated. His shoulders slumped, and he sighed again.

“What, exactly, did she see?” 

Draco looked at his friend. “More than you,” he replied.

“Fuck.”

“My sentiments, exactly.”

-

When Draco turned down the corridor he saw what he already knew – Hermione was waiting for him. She’d changed out of her school uniform and was wearing what had to be a Weasley jumper – it was purple with a big yellow H on the front and looked to be made of scratchy wool – and a pair of muggle jeans that hugged her in all the right places.

Draco cleared his throat and attempted to put on an air of indifference. Or, if not indifference, at the very least not pure unadulterated longing.

She smiled as he approached, assessing his school trousers and white t-shirt, her eyes lingering on his left forearm, then back up to his face and slightly tousled hair. “You’ve slept,” she stated.

“I have,” he admitted.

“Feel better?”

“Much.”

She nodded, then turned and got on her toes to reach up and tickle the pear.   

He followed Hermione into the castle kitchens, weaving and swerving among the house elves, and towards the small round table next to the hearth in the back corner. 

Draco was nervous.

He could feel his heartbeat thundering in his chest. Which was really saying something, considering his heart didn’t beat nearly as much as it used to. He sat down, stretched out his long legs, then pulled them back up and sat straight, unable to decide how to sit. Unable to get comfortable.

Hermione sat down, placed her hands on the tabletop and clasped them together.

“So?” she asked.

Draco grimaced. He leaned his elbows on the table, and cradled his head in his hands for a moment as he attempted to acclimatise himself to her proximity. To focus on the smells of the kitchen rather than her. 

It didn’t work.

She smelled wonderful.

Like sweat, vanilla cupcakes, flowers and….something metallic. She was menstruating. He hadn’t noticed that earlier. She must have just started. It made Draco feel lightheaded. It was all he could do not to groan.

He looked back up.

She was staring at him. Waiting.

He sat back and rubbed his hands on his trousers.  “So…” he started, and stopped. Bit his lip. He didn’t know how to start.

“Let’s just cut right to the chase,” she finally said. “What are you?” 

Draco shrugged, “I’m not really sure, to be honest.”

“What do you mean you’re not sure?”

“Best I can guess?” he said, looking at her earnestly. “Some kind of zombie.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. It was…clearly not the answer she was expecting. If she’d been expecting anything, that is.

“Why do you think you’re a…a… zombie?” she asked, looking at him with some degree of concern, disbelief, and…maybe fear. 

Draco scratched at his arm and took a deep breath, ready to reply when Gilly apparated with a smile. 

He had to give it to the house-elf — she had great timing.

“Mr. Draco,” she exclaimed. “Will Miss Hermione be joining you for dinner?”

“She will,” Draco replied.

“Are you wanting Gilly to…” the house elf frowned and trailed off.

Draco shook his head, “Whatever you’ve prepared will be fine, Gilly. Just…give Miss Hermione and I a few minutes to talk first.”

Gilly nodded then disapparated.

He looked back at Hermione and decided to start at the beginning. To just tell her everything. It was easier than trying to edit, condense or sugarcoat.

“After the battle of Hogwarts,” he began, “when it was all over and I was leaving with my parents…something grabbed me. Reached out from the muck and took hold of my ankle. Scratched me pretty badly…”

“What was it?” she interrupted.

Draco ran his hand through his hair. “An inferius,” he replied. “A bloody, rotting, filthy, disgusting thing…”

Hermione made a face and leaned forward, waiting for him to go on.

“I got home, cleaned up the wound, and honestly didn’t think much about it…not at first, anyway.” He shook his head, looked into the flames of the hearth. “It didn’t heal, though. No matter what spells or potions I took. Eventually, it started to fester. The healer’s couldn’t explain it. Or heal it, for that matter. It dragged on for a while,” he looked at Hermione. “If anyone thought I was looking pale at my trial, it wasn’t because of nerves. I was sick – succumbing. Half my leg was looking…” he stopped and took a deep breath. “It was rotting .”

Hermione let out a little gasp, her hand instinctively going to her mouth. 

“Not long after the trial I ended up in St. Mungo’s. I was feverish, and…” he considered for a moment, “...I felt like I was dying.” He looked up at Hermione. Narrowed his intense blue eyes, “I did die…at least that’s what they tell me.” He scratched his chin, “It’s the only memory I don’t have…the only gap.”

“Then what?”

Draco shrugged, “I woke up.” He couldn’t help smirking. “Scared the shit out of my mother who’d been sitting with me.”

“But how long…” Hermioned stopped and cleared her throat, “How long had you been dead?” she asked. “Before you woke up?”

“My mum tells me it was a few hours.”  Draco shifted in his chair uncomfortably. “During which time all the festering and rotting reversed, my hair turned silver, my skin paler, my eyes bluer, and I was…healed…for all intents and purposes. More than just healed, really. More alive than I’d ever been before.”

“But how…” Hermione asked, her eyes wide.

Draco shrugged, “As far as I can tell – and this is pure speculation on my part – whatever magic that can imbue a corpse with life….reanimate it….well, when that infects someone who’s already alive, it…reinvigorates or re-energises them. Or something.” He took a deep breath. “Honestly I may be talking out of my arse. I have no idea.”

“Okay…” she said slowly, nodding. “So you, just woke up?”

“Not quite.”

“What do you mean?”

“I woke up hungry ,” he looked at her meaningfully. “Incredibly hungry.”

“For what?”

“I didn’t know at first…I was completely overwhelmed. Everything was brighter, more colourful, louder, and…well…smellier. All my senses were in overdrive. But underlying it all, was this deep, gnawing hunger, that consciously I had no idea how to satiate, but unconsciously?” He shook his head. “I could smell something I wanted. Something I needed .” He scratched at his arm again. “Something I couldn’t, for the life of me, identify. So I tracked it.”

“You tracked it?”

“Like a fucking bloodhound. The same way I tracked Brown last night. I got up from my hospital bed, and sniffed and smelled my way four floors down to St. Mungo’s trauma unit, where I found a wizard who’d been in an accident. Died. His skull was fractured. His brain tissue exposed…” He looked at Hermione, his eyes pleading with her to understand. “I didn’t think,” he continued. “I couldn’t. I just…acted on instinct.”

“What did you do?” she gasped, looking like she definitely already knew the answer. Her hand still over her mouth.

Draco winced. “I cracked his skull open with my bare hands, pulled his brain out, and ate it.” He shook his head. “It was…a relief. Probably the single most satisfying thing I’d ever done in my entire life.”

Hermione leaned back in her chair.

“Your special diet?”

“Yes.”

Hermione closed her eyes and cradled her head in her hands. Processing. 

Draco’s brows knit together, watching her intently.

Finally she looked up and asked, “Where do you get them?” 

“I have an arrangement with a muggle morgue. When they take out all the organs and examine them, weigh them…whatever it is they do…they send a portion of the brain matter to me.” He tilted his head, “Well…to the manor, or to Hogwarts, depending where I am.”

“And if you don’t get them?”

Draco sucked at his teeth, and frowned. “This is where the very little information St. Mungo’s had on past cases of inferi infection actually proved useful.”

“So this has happened before?” Hermione interrupted.

“Yeah. But not recently,” Draco said, running his hands through his hair again. Brooding. “From what I can gather, a lack of a sufficient food source results in the individual going feral.”

Hermione sat up straight, leaning back in her chair. “Feral?”

Draco nodded. “Uncontrollable. Driven solely by their need for food.”

“There’s a record of this happening?”

“Yeah. There was a woman who started murdering people to eat their brains. Another who couldn’t get brains and went…” Draco shifted in his chair. “...well, he basically turned into an inferius.” He looked down at his hands. “Neither of them lasted more than a few weeks before they were put down.” He scowled slightly. “That was the term they used. Put down.”

“On my gods…Malfoy…” she reached her hand towards him across the table, then seemed to reconsider and just left it there. She looked at him, shaking her head.

“It’s a lot. I know…” Draco said.

“It’s more than a lot,” Hermione replied. “I didn't even know people like you could exist.” She seemed to be deep in her thoughts. Draco closed his eyes and just tried to breathe. To keep his head. To accept that he’d let one more person into his secret. That meant there was one more person who could betray him – reveal what he was to…well, to anyone, really.

Gilly tentatively approached them on foot.

“Is you being ready to eat?” she asked meekly.

Draco nodded.

She disapparated, then came back a moment later with two plates of food. One for Hermione, featuring an assortment of items being served in the Great Hall above. And one for Draco that was very obviously some sort of brain sauté.

“Thanks Gilly,” Draco said kindly.

He looked up and Hermione was staring at his plate.

“You can go upstairs if you want,” he told her, his fork hovering over his meal.

She looked at it. She looked at him. Then shook her head. “No. That’s okay,” she concluded. And started eating.

So did Draco.

He was famished.

He was always famished. He seemed to burn energy at an extraordinary rate.

They ate in companionable silence for a while. The wheels in Hermione’s brain obviously turning. She appeared to be having an entire conversation with herself. Finally, though, she looked up and asked, “Malfoy…if your sense of smell is so good you could smell brains four floors away. Track Lavender outside in the forbidden forest…is that why you’re always suggesting we go outside?”

Draco looked up, feeling slightly like a deer caught in the headlights.

He nodded. Took another bite. 

She frowned. “Do I smell bad ?” she asked. Then her eyes suddenly went wide. “Is that why you’re always making faces, and trying to move away from me?” She looked…horrified. Like, the fact he was a zombie was something she could live with, but the possibility she might smell bad was untenable. 

Draco shook his head. Swallowed. Looked her in the eye. Took a deep breath.

He was really going to do this.

“You don’t smell bad, Hermione,” he told her gently. “I act that way because…” he grimaced slightly, “...because you smell good.”

Hermione stopped, her fork in midair. “I…smell good ?”

He clenched his teeth and nodded. “Everyone smells…” he bobbed his head from side to side, trying to find the right words, “...everyone has a scent. Some are better than others. But everyone vaguely smells like food. Not that I’d ever do anything about it….it’s just….they could be food, if that makes sense.” It didn’t look like it made sense. He went on anyway, “And so did you…for the most part. Your slightly better scent just kinda mingled with everyone else’s. Until we were made potions partners. You came and sat next to me, and I was able to smell just you.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. Waiting to know what, exactly, she smelled like.

Draco ran his hand over his face. “I’m not sure I can explain it,” he admitted. “You smell like…like something I want to own. Devour…but, not in the sense that I want to eat you…” he paused, “...well, not in that way, anyway. Just…like I want to taste you.”

“You want to taste me,” she said sceptically, frowning. She put her fork down.

It was almost too much. It felt too intimate even to admit. Draco grabbed the edge of the table and held tightly. His knuckles turning white. “I want to bury my face in your hair and breathe you in. I want to lick every inch of your body,” he confessed. 

He at least had the decency to look chagrined. He couldn’t look her in the eye.

She leaned back, her hands in her lap. Assessing him.

“Malfoy…” she started uncomfortably.

Draco grimaced, “I don’t…” he started. Took a deep breath, and started over again, “I don’t know why . I don’t know why you’re different. You just…are. I don’t ever intend to do anything about it, Hermione. Don’t worry. But…but it’s why I struggle around you.”

“Because I smell like you want to own me,” she finished.

“Yes.”

Draco had never felt so humiliated in his entire life. He shifted in his chair. Scratched the back of his neck. Finished the last few bites of his dinner. He did not look at Hermione. He couldn’t. Instead he turned his head to the side and looked at the flames in the hearth, feeling like a complete fucking idiot.

He heard, rather than saw, Hermione finish her dinner and push her plate to the side.

“I’ll walk you up to Gryffindor Tower,” he told her. Still not looking at her, but standing up.

“It’s not necessary, I—”

“It is,” he interrupted. 

“Okay,” she acquiesced and got up. As she moved past, her arm brushed against his. He inhaled and felt faint. He very deliberately got ahead of her and led the way out of the kitchens and out into the hallway, still refusing to look at her. Berating himself. Feeling like a horklump. 

It wasn’t until the third floor that Draco broke their silence. “I’m sorry,” he said, as they made their way to the fourth floor staircase.

“For what?” Hermione asked. He could feel her looking at him.

“For making this awkward as fuck.”

He heard Hermione huff slightly, then felt her hand on his arm, stopping him. She climbed up an additional two steps and stood in front of him. Just slightly taller than him now, forcing him to look up at her.

The thing was, she’d only asked if she smelled bad . When he told her no…that he liked the way she smelled…well, she didn’t follow up and ask if there was anything else he liked about her. Like the way she looked. The way she smiled. The way her freckles spread out across her cheekbones and nose. The way her face scrunched up right before she laughed. The way she bit her bottom lip when she was thinking…which was all the bloody time. The way she thought deeply and profoundly about everything. The way she methodically approached everything she did. The way she chopped her potions ingredients. The way she refused to buy herself a new fucking skirt, and waited until she could transfigure her existing ones instead. The way she cleared her throat when she was uncomfortable. 

The way she held onto him when she was scared.

There was a lot Draco liked about Hermione.

But she never asked.

Draco looked at her. Into her big brown eyes. She looked…shy under his scrutiny. She knew he was watching her now, or at the very least, smelling her. She smelled fucking heavenly at the moment. That heady mix of sweat, musk, and…fuck…menstrual blood.

What the actual fuck was wrong with him?

All he could think of was going down on her. He wanted to get between her legs and breathe in that incredible scent. Lick her. Taste her. Devour her. Own her.

He wanted to make her come. Wanted to know if the sound of her climaxing was something else he would like.

He took a deep breath and tried to focus. On her face. Her freckles. The way the light picked up the green and gold in her eyes. They weren’t so much brown, now he looked at them more carefully. They were hazel.

“It’s not awkward,” she said. Tilting her head, and scrunching her face. “That’s not true,” she admitted with a sheepish smile. “It’s completely awkward. But…” she drew that last word out, “...I really appreciate you being honest with me. It helps. A lot. Puts things into context. Now I just…need to process.”

Draco nodded. “Take all the time you need,” he said. He needed to get them moving before he did something he’d regret. Before he ran his hand up and between her legs. Before he rubbed her through her jeans. Before he pulled them open and dipped his hand inside her knickers. Felt the warmth of her cunt. The slick of her desire mixed in with her bleeding.

Oh gods. He felt desperate. 

He clenched his teeth and moved over. Started back up the stairs. He didn’t trust himself to talk, or even to look at her. 

They walked in silence all the way up to the seventh floor, and then to the portrait of the Fat Lady. 

Draco stopped and looked at Hermione. Full of longing. 

Could she see it on his face?

She gave him a small, nervous, smile. “Goodnight Malfoy.”

“Goodnight Hermione,” he replied. 

-

Draco didn’t go back to his dorm.

He couldn’t.

Instead, he went outside and into the Forbidden Forest.

And ran. 

He ran fast and hard, trying so desperately to use up his energy. To exhaust himself. 

To get away from her. From that intoxicating scent that had so thoroughly and completely wrapped itself around his entire being. It was all he could think about. It was all he wanted.

Her.

Chapter Text

To say that Hermione had a lot to think about would be an understatement. She had too much to think about. She had so much to think about, she didn’t know where to start. But what she absolutely did know was that it was thinking she wanted to do alone. 

She entered the Gryffindor common room and almost cursed. All her friends were there – joking, drinking, and talking. They invited her to join them, asking where she’d been.

“I was having dinner with Malfoy,” she replied. An answer which garnered more than a few frowns, and an outright snort of disgust from Ron.

“Discussing your end of year project?” Harry asked helpfully.

Hermione nodded. “We picked our snowdrops last night by the light of the full moon. We’re ready to start brewing. Now it’s just a matter of when to start.”

It was something they needed to discuss – even if it wasn’t what they’d discussed that evening.

“And you had to have dinner with him to figure that out?” Neville asked.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed at her friend. Since when had he become so astute? 

“He’s at quidditch practice all the time. Seemed our best opportunity.”

The big Gryffindor-versus-Slytherin match was next weekend. Everyone was talking about it. Everyone was anxious. Malfoy was proving to be an exceptional seeker this year, and it was unclear if Ginny could beat him, even with the superior broom Harry had bought her. It was a good excuse. Both teams were practising non-stop, and nobody questioned her. 

Well, almost.

“Consorting with the enemy, are you?” Ginny asked cheekily.

“He’s my potions partner,” Hermione replied dryly. “Nothing more.”

Except he wasn’t.

He’d protected her. He’d comforted her. He’d defended her.

He’d told her he wanted to lick every inch of her.

Hermione felt a little flutter in her stomach. She shook her head, making the necessary excuses to her friends. It had been a long day. She was tired. She had studying to do.  

She made her way up to the seventh and eighth-year dorm, expecting it to be empty, but stopped short when she found Lavender climbing into her four-poster bed. She looked positively exhausted. Dark circles under her eyes, bruises and scratches all up her arms and, presumably, all over her body. She had what looked like the remnants of a black eye that had mostly been healed.

“Alright there, Lavender?” Hermione asked.

Lavender settled into her bed, propped up on her pillows and under her blankets. “I feel terrible,” she admitted. “I know you know why.” 

She looked at Hermione matter-of-factly, shrugged slightly, and took a magazine off her bedside table. She opened it, but didn’t even bother pretending to read it.

Hermione approached her tentatively, leaning against the post at the end of her bed. “Do you forget your wolfsbane often?” 

Lavender grimaced slightly. “Once in a while. Not too often.” She shook her head. “But last night? Malfoy? I don’t know what he is, Hermione, but you need to be careful of him. He’s…dangerous.”

“What makes you say that?” Hermione asked.

Lavender frowned. “It’s hard to explain…what I remember when I’m a wolf is more…feelings, impressions and instinct. Nothing too specific. But I definitely know that when I was face-to-face with Malfoy, I was terrified. Every bone in my body told me to get away. That he’d rip me open if given the opportunity.”

Hermione recalled the fact he’d pried open a dead man’s skull, and didn’t doubt for one second that he could tear a werewolf in half if he wanted. What was it he had said? He was ‘higher up’ the food chain?

But he was well fed. Completely rational and in control of himself. Lavender didn’t know that, of course.

Hermione nodded. “I’ll be careful, Lavender. Thanks.” She hesitated a moment, pushed off the bed post then asked, “He says he gave you his jacket?” She made an apologetic face. “He’d like it back…”

“Of everything that happened last night, that’s what concerns him?” Lavender asked incredulously.

Hermione just shrugged. “He said he really likes it.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Lavender muttered as she climbed out from under her blankets, knelt down on the floor and pulled Malfoy’s jacket out from under her bed. “I may not know what he is, but I do know he’s still a complete arsehole.” She handed the jacket to Hermione.

She took it and nodded her thanks. Lavender climbed back under her blankets and pulled the curtains shut around her bed, effectively ending their conversation. 

Hermione turned around and headed to her trunk, lifting Malfoy’s jacket to her face to sniff it. It smelled just like him. Like apples, peppermint…some spice she couldn’t identify and…something distinctly woodsy. An oiled broomstick handle…? Yes, that was it. It smelled good. 

She looked around the room, suddenly embarrassed. 

Fearful of being caught, she put it down on her trunk and went about getting ready for bed. Despite the excuses she’d given her friends, she didn’t think she could possibly sleep.

Malfoy’s revelations had been…well, surprising didn’t quite cut it. Shocking? Astonishing? Unforeseen? Never in a million years would she have guessed her potions partner had died and come back to life a zombie. 

He ate brains. Human brains. 

Though he did seem to source them rather ethically – so that was something. 

It didn’t stop everyone around him from smelling vaguely like food, though. 

Except her. 

She smelled good . So good he wanted to own her, devour her, eat her…

But not in that way. 

Hermione felt a strange nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach as she let that sink in. He wanted to eat her, but he’d specifically said not in that way. Not in a food way. 

Malfoy wanted to go down on her.

It was…not an entirely unpleasant thought. 

Hermione stared at herself in the mirror, brushing her teeth. Was she really open to Malfoy smelling her? Licking her? Eating her out?

Objectively speaking, it was ludicrous. He was Draco bloody Malfoy. Former bully, Death Eater, and all around arrogant prick. He was more creature than human now. A zombie who ate human brains and was driven to distraction by his senses. By her .

What would happen if he didn’t eat his brains? If he went feral? Would he still be able to resist her? Or would his inexplicable need to smell her turn into an uncontrollable need to actually eat her? In a food way?

Hermione had no doubt that rationally, it was safest to keep her distance from Draco Malfoy. To restrict their interactions to potions class, and their project.

Except…

If she were to feel her way through this, instead of thinking…well, she’d come up with a very different conclusion.

She rinsed her toothbrush and took out a length of floss, wrapped its ends around both hands and leaned into the mirror. Considering.

He’d been honest with her. Completely honest, of that she was certain. He’d seemed so incredibly embarrassed and ashamed of himself. So vulnerable and desperate he couldn’t even make eye contact with her.

He wanted her. 

Whether it was purely some strange instinctual imperative he’d developed due to his transformation, or it was based on something else…something more …she’d been too frightened to ask. 

Too frightened of what his answer might be.

What if he wanted her in more ways than just how she smelled? Did she want to know? And, more importantly than any reason he might want her, did she want him?

Hermione threw out her floss, then splashed water on her face. She rubbed in her moisturiser, then padded her way back to bed in her bare feet.

There was no question that Malfoy was attractive. His paler skin, silver hair, and intense blue eyes hadn’t done anything to diminish his good looks. Rather, they enhanced them. It was like appreciating a black and white photograph, where only the eyes had been colourised. He was extremely attractive.

She climbed on top of her bed, pulled the curtains over, and got under the blankets. Still musing. Still trying to wrap her head around it all.

Was she attracted to him? Could she be attracted to him now she knew what he was? 

Besides being a good-looking zombie, what else did Malfoy have going for him? 

He was honest when he needed to be – that was important. 

He was intelligent. Sure, his approach to school was different than hers, but she could appreciate his methodology and work ethic. In fact, she thought it rather complementary to her own. She was still a little put out by his hyperthymesia, but that wasn’t his fault. Besides, it did come in handy in potions class. 

He’d saved her from Ron – who, in hindsight, had probably cast a perfectly good silencing charm on that alcove. There was no doubt in Hermione’s mind that Malfoy had smelled her fear and tracked her down. To help her. 

He’d walked her up to Gryffindor Tower and convinced the Fat Lady to let him in to ensure she was safe. It was somewhat chivalrous, really – probably something to do with his pureblood upbringing. 

Then, he’d punched Ron on her behalf, and held back to just breaking his nose at her request. 

He’d protected her from the werewolf. 

He wasn’t exactly kind, but he was conscientious. Despite Lavender’s misgivings, he’d gone back to prevent her from doing anything she might later regret. He even gave her his jacket to cover up. Though he definitely had a questionable past and upbringing, he had a sense of right and wrong.

She needed to sleep on it, and give herself some time to determine how she really felt. To process everything. 

Hermione got comfortable under her blankets. Closed her eyes.

Really, she needed to talk to someone. Obviously, she couldn’t tell Harry that Malfoy was a zombie. He would most definitely go into saviour mode and attempt to…Hermione didn’t know what he’d attempt to do. Something. 

Something that would ruin any chance she might have of salvaging a working potions partnership – or more – with Malfoy. 

No. She couldn’t talk to Harry.

Hagrid?

Malfoy had said the groundskeeper knew what he was.

Yes, that was it. She’d talk to Hagrid. Tomorrow.

And…she’d see how she felt when she saw Malfoy again. She had to return his jacket, after all. And discuss when they’d start brewing their potion.

The potion.

Hermione’s eyes flew open.

Bloody fucking hell.  

They were brewing a potion to bring the dead back to life. Malfoy said he’d died before he woke up as a zombie. 

Malfoy was planning to drink the potion.

-

Hermione didn’t sleep much that night. She had far too much on her mind – a brain race that refused to settle.

After tossing and turning and attempting to sleep in just a little bit, she eventually gave up.

She got up, got dressed, and made her way down to the common room with her satchel and arithmancy homework in tow. She looked out the window, and though it was barely even light out, saw the Slytherin house team already out and practising. She smiled when she spotted Malfoy immediately. 

His pale skin almost glowed in the early morning light. He moved so effortlessly on his broom. Holding on with just his legs, and demonstrating something or other to one of the beaters with their bat. He sure could hit a bludger. Hard. 

Given the circumstances, it was a good thing he was the team seeker, and not a beater. Gryffindor wouldn’t stand a chance against that arm.

She sighed, turned away from the window, and settled herself on the sofa closest to the hearth, and got to work.

-

According to Ginny, Gryffindor had the pitch that afternoon, so Hermione figured she’d try to catch Malfoy at lunch to give him back his jacket. But when she got down to the castle kitchens, he wasn’t there. 

Gilly told her he hadn’t been for lunch yet, but if she happened to see him to let him know it was ready. The house elf also suggested – none too subtly – that she was welcome to join Mr. Draco for lunch, and that she’d save a plate for her. Hermione thanked her and left the kitchen. 

She looked at her watch. 

Maybe the Slytherins were practising through lunch? Or at least until it was almost over? Surely they had to eat?

She slowly started making her way towards the Slytherin dungeons not knowing what else to do. She didn’t want to drag Malfoy’s jacket all over the castle. She found a comfortable little nook in which to sit close to what she believed was the entrance to their common room, and pulled out a book. If they took too long and lunch was over, she knew at least she had a plate being saved for her in the kitchens.

About ten minutes later, Hermione heard boisterous and excited voices coming down the corridor. She looked up and saw the Slytherin team approaching, all wet from the weather and exertion. Most of them looked rather surprised to see her. Malfoy didn’t, though. Surely he’d known she was there – had already smelled her. A few comments seemed to be passed amongst themselves, or to Malfoy, but only one of them spoke loudly enough for her to hear. 

The team’s keeper. Hermione was pretty sure his name was Selwyn and, if memory served, he was somehow related to Dolores Umbridge.

No wonder he was awful.

“Hey, what’s Potter’s mudblood bitch doing down here? She in heat? Looking for some pureblood cock?” He grabbed his crotch. “I’d be more than happy to accommodate—”

He didn’t get the chance to elaborate how he would accommodate her.

Malfoy grabbed him by the arm, twisted it behind his back, and thrust him up against the wall. “Shut the fuck up, you deficient little wank stain,” he seethed, his voice dangerously low. “Apologise. Now.” 

Hermione stood up, shaking her head. “It’s okay, Malfoy…”

“It’s not okay,” he cut her off, pushing Selwyn harder against the wall. He leaned down and hissed in his ear, “This is Hermione fucking Granger. You have her to thank you’re here practising quidditch and bitching about your transfiguration homework rather than marked and learning the Unforgivables. She deserves your respect, you worthless piece of shit.”

Selwyn tilted his chin down in what was meant to be a nod. “Okay…” he choked out. It was all he could say – Malfoy was pushing so hard he could hardly breathe.

“Hey, Draco, maybe ease up a bit?” one of the beaters suggested. Hermione didn’t know his name.

Malfoy clenched his jaw, leaned back and let Selwyn go, gasping for breath.

“Apologise,” Malfoy reminded him.

Hermione stepped closer, placing herself between the two men as if to prevent any additional actions on Malfoy’s part.

Selwyn looked over Hermione’s shoulder at Malfoy, then to her. “I’m sorry,” he said meekly. “I didn’t mean it.”

Malfoy crossed his arms. “Keep going,” he ordered harshly.

Selwyn cleared his throat, and continued, “It was disrespectful of me. I’m sorry. I appreciate everything you did in the war.”

Malfoy made to move forward, but Hermione reached back with her hand to stay him. “I accept your apology,” she told Selwyn. “We’re good,” she finished, looking meaningfully at Malfoy. He gave a curt nod, and Selwyn pushed off the wall heading straight to the – now – open door to the Slytherin dungeons.

Both Hermione and Malfoy watched as the remaining members of the team entered, and the door closed. They looked at each other.

Malfoy smiled.

It was half smirk and half grin, and one hundred percent dazzling.

He leaned against the wall. “What brings you down to the dungeons?” he asked, his voice slightly flirtatious, as if he hadn’t just been threatening someone. 

Hermione looked at him a moment, assessing, then sighed. She went back to the nook and pulled out his jacket. Shook it out, and handed it to him.

His face lit up. “My jacket!” he exclaimed, his pleasure obvious. “I was worried Brown would try to hide it or burn the evidence or something.”

“Well, she did have it under her bed…” Hermione told him, fighting back a smile. 

Really. She wasn’t sure if she should be encouraging him.

“Well, thanks for getting it back for me,” he said, his head tilted slightly to the side. His eyes never left her. His scrutiny – his admiration – was obvious. Blatant. Out in the open.

Hermione felt herself blush and cleared her throat. “I also thought we should discuss when we’re going to start brewing our potion?”

Malfoy ran a hand through his hair, nodding. “Let me go run through the shower and change, then we can discuss over lunch? Gimme five minutes…” 

“Okay,” Hermione nodded, unable to prevent her eyes from roving over him in his quidditch kit.

She never really did care much for the sport. She knew the rules, but found them slightly ridiculous – especially in comparison to muggle sports, which seemed more…fair? The points systems less inflated? It didn’t matter, really. Hermione was never going to be a diehard quidditch fan. 

But she could appreciate how good Malfoy looked playing it. Dressed for it. 

She felt warm.

She looked at her little nook. “I’ll wait right here,” she told him, then fished through the front pocket of her satchel to find a hair elastic. She turned and sat down, pulled her hair up and off her neck, gathering it into a messy bun, and tied it up.

When she looked up, Malfoy was staring at her, his pupils blown wide, completely dilated.

His jaw muscles flexed and he took an obviously difficult breath, almost snorted, and said, “Give me ten minutes.” Then he pushed off the wall and quickly made his way into the Slytherin dungeons.

-

They decided over lunch that with the sheer number of quidditch practises scheduled before and after classes, they should just wait until after the big match to start brewing their potion. When determining their original brewing schedule, they’d anticipated maybe not finding any snowdrops this month and waiting until the next full moon, anyway. 

There was no rush.

-

Hermione didn’t make it to Hagrid’s until after dinner that night. She grabbed a few bottles of butterbear to bring with her, then grabbed a dozen more when she realised who she was going to visit. She left the castle, beer bottles clinking together as she walked across the grounds through the lightly falling snow.

“Hermione!” Hagrid exclaimed with pleasure when he opened the door. “Is it jus’ you?” he asked, looking over her shoulder – obviously expecting either Harry or Ron.

“Just me,” she confirmed cheerily. She hadn’t visited with Hagrid in some time and missed that open, friendly, face of his.

He ushered her in. “It’s never jus you, Hermione,” he smiled back, and closed the door behind her. “I’m always pleased to have a visit from one o’ my favourite students,” he winked.

She placed her satchel on Hagrid’s large kitchen table, and pulled out the butterbeers. “I brought drinks for us,” she announced.

Hagrid shook his head and smiled. “I canna believe it’s been eight years since we’ve been visitin’ together in my hut, and look at you now, Hermione…all grown up. Bringin’ beer for the two of us to share.”

“That’s what friends do,” she said and handed him a bottle.

She settled down on a bench – or maybe it was an oversized chair – and held her bottle up for a toast. “To old friends,” she said.

“To ol’ friends,” Hagrid repeated, and clinked his bottle against hers. 

They both drank.

“Speakin’ o’ friends,” Hagrid started, “I haven’ seen you with Harry an’ Ron so much o’ late.” He paused and looked at her with concern. “Everythin’ alright?”

Hermione took a large gulp of beer, before nodding and stating, “With Harry, everything’s fine.” 

Hagrid gave her a look. “An’ with Ron?”

“Things with Ron haven’t been the same since we broke up,” Hermione admitted, then took another gulp of beer. “I tried to be friends with him again. I really did. But he…”

“He wha’?”

“He wasn’t satisfied with just friends anymore,” she concluded, and shook her head. More to herself than to Hagrid, she went on, “He’s different now. Everything is different. Strained. I’m not sure we can ever be friends again, after what happened.” 

Hagrid frowned. “Somethin’ happened wi’ Ron, Hermione?”

Hermione looked up. Bit her lips. Nodded.

“Yeah, something happened.”

Hagrid drained the remainder of his butterbeer, placed it down on the table a little too hard, and leaned closer. “Wha’ happened?”

“I can’t talk about it,” she told him. “I don’t want to talk about it…suffice to say, it’s only thanks to Malfoy things aren’t worse than they already are.”

“Oh? What did Draco hav’ to do wi’ it?” Hagrid asked.

“He intervened,” Hermione replied vaguely, leaving it at that.

Hagrid raised his eyebrows, and opened another beer. “He’s become a rather useful sort, Draco has…”

“Has he?” Hermione asked innocently. “I was actually wondering about that. The other night when we were collecting snowdrops, the two of you seemed…” she paused, searching for the right words, “...on far friendlier terms than I would have expected,” she finished and looked at Hagrid pointedly.

“Oh,” Hagrid replied, “...well, sure…Draco’s bin’ helpin’ me out in the forest.”

“How?” Hermione asked, drawing her brows together and leaning in, hanging on Hagrid’s every word.

“Well…hmm,” Hagrid started, realising he may have already revealed more than he was supposed to about Malfoy’s condition.

Hermione didn’t have it in her to leave Hagrid hanging. She reached out her hand and placed it on his large one. ‘It’s okay, Hagrid. I know.”

“You know?”

“Yes,” she nodded emphatically. “He told me last night. That’s…actually why I wanted to talk to you. To get a better idea of…” she hesitated, “Well, I guess I wanted to know if you trusted him.”

“Without a doubt, I absolutely trust the lad,” he replied earnestly. 

“Why?”

Hagrid paused at that. Made a face. “Well, Hermione…you know I’m no’ the best with me words. But, what I can tell you, is that Draco has changed. He ain’t the sycophantic little pissant he used to be. Now if that’s because he learned his lesson after the war, or because he died and came back to life, I don’ know.” He looked at Hermione seriously. “But he’s different, Hermione. A real good lad, and he’s been helpin’ me out, tracking and findin’ creatures in the forest.”

Hermione thought about this for a moment. “And he told you about the werewolf?”

“About Lavender?” Hagrid asked. “Yeah, he told me.”

Hermione shook her head, thinking. Crossed her arms. “So? What then? He’s changed. He’s a good lad…but is he safe to be around? Is he trustworthy? And I mean for the average person, like me…not you, Hagrid.” 

Hagrid smiled at that.

“Yer’ askin’ because he’s told yeh he fancies yeh, didna he?”

She shook her head emphatically. “He absolutely did not,” she said firmly. “He just told me…he told me…” It was almost too embarrassing to say. “He told me he liked the way I smell. That he…” she took a deep breath, “...that he wanted to…to…”

“To lick yeh?” Hagrid finished for her.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide. How did he know?

“Hermione,” he started, his tone gentle. “What you hav’ to understand, is tha’ Draco ain’t human no more. He’s mor’ creature. An’ creatures…they feel wi’ their senses. You seen dogs gettin’ to know one another?” he asked, speaking as if she were a child. “They smell each other,” he concluded. “An’ Draco he…” Hagrid sighed, “...he’s jus’ tryin’ to adjust to this whole new way ‘o bein’. He don’ rightly understand it himself. But what I know, havin’ been around creatures me whole life, is that he’s strugglin’ an’ he wants to smell ya’, because he fancies ya.”

“But is it all just instinct? Does he not really like me , he just likes how I smell?”

Hagrid shook his head. “You wouldna’ smell so good to him if he didna’ fancy yeh.”

“You’re sure?”

He nodded. “I’m sure,” he replied, then narrowed his eyes. “But the mos’ important question, Hermione…is do you fancy ‘im ? Because it don’t matter how much he wants to smell yeh’ if you don’ fancy ‘im back.”

She took a few gulps of her butterbeer before looking Hagrid squarely in the eye, a worried expression on her face. “That’s just it, Hagrid. I think I might.” She grimaced. “Is that crazy? After all these years of him bullying me, and being an utter arse…”

“He’s different now, Hermione. No comparison…”

“You really think so?”

“I do,” Hagrid confirmed. Then he added with a grin, “Blimey, can you imagin’ me an the ol’ Draco Malfoy gettin’ along?”

Hermione couldn’t argue with that. Malfoy had been more of an arse to Hagrid – constantly insulting him, questioning his intelligence and authority, trying to get him sacked – than he’d been to her.  

She finished her beer and grabbed another one. She shook her head to clear it and decided to change the subject. “Okay,” she finally said, “what’s happening with you? How is Care of Magical Creatures going? What creatures are you caring for this year?”

And so, they launched into a discussion of Hagrid’s classes, and the latest creatures he had each year learning about and caring for. Hermione almost spat her beer out when he told her about his latest attempt to replicate his hybrid blast-ended skrewts, which had turned out more manticore than fire crab this time around. He hadn’t been able to use them for classes, as even he thought they were too dangerous – which was really saying something. 

He couldn’t understand why his class on unicorns remained more popular than the one on thestrals. Hermione had to remind him most students couldn’t even see a thestral, and that might sway their opinion.

Just as Hagrid started rummaging through the cupboards looking for snacks, there was a knock on the door.

“Who could tha’ be?” Hagrid frowned.

He left the cupboards hanging open and went to answer the door. 

“Draco!” Hagrid exclaimed. “What are yeh doin’ here? Come in, come in…”

Hagrid moved out of the way to allow Malfoy space to enter. “Yer ears ain’t red, are they?”

Hermione wanted to die at the insinuation they’d been talking about him, but Malfoy didn’t seem to catch the reference. “What? No…” he answered with a frown. He walked around Hagrid and paused to look at Hermione. Licked his lips.

“Hermione,” he said, “I’m not interrupting?”

She shook her head. “No, no….Hagrid and I were just catching up,” she looked at the many empty butterbeer bottles on the table and cocked her head and smiled, “...we’ve been at it awhile.”

His gaze lingered on Hermione just long enough for it to start being uncomfortable before he looked at Hagrid. 

“You’ll never believe what I found in the forest tonight,” he said excitedly, as he took a seat on the bench next to Hermione. She couldn’t help noticing there were many other, emptier , chairs.

She passed him a bottle of butterbeer, which he took with a nod.

“Wha’s that?” Hagrid asked, heading back to rummage in the cupboard.

“So I was headed to the broom shed, figuring I’d use up a little energy before sitting down to work on my arithmancy homework, when I caught a whiff of something I didn’t recognise.” He ran a hand through his hair and frowned. “It smelled like blood. It had that telltale metallic undertone to it…but not normal blood. Human….but not quite. Definitely not fresh. Not dried. Not menstrual….”

“Wait.” Hermione placed her hand on Malfoy’s arm. “Are you telling me you can smell––”

“I can,” he interrupted. “You’ve been showing signs for a few days, but actually started bleeding yesterday evening. I could smell it at dinner last night.”

Hermione felt her cheeks go hot and covered her mouth with her hand. 

She was mortified. How could he say it so matter-of-factly?

He frowned. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Hermione. At any given moment, women all over the castle are menstruating. It’s a smell I’m used to. It’s a smell I know.” He smirked at her. “Including yours…” 

He looked back at Hagrid, who was watching them both carefully from across the room. 

“As I was saying, it smelled like blood, but….if I was forced to pick a word to describe it, I’d say it was almost rancid.”

Hagrid abandoned his search for snacks and came to stand in front of them. “And did yeh track this rancid smellin’ blood?” He looked…like he might have a pretty good idea what Malfoy had discovered, and wasn’t happy about it.

“I did…” Malfoy nodded, then paused for, seemingly, dramatic effect.

“And?” Hermione prompted. She was still completely embarrassed, but that had never stopped her from asking questions before. She needed an answer. She needed to know.

Malfoy took a swig of beer, and shifted his position on the bench he was sharing with Hermione. He spread his legs so his right thigh was pushed against her left one. The contact sent her heart racing. Was he doing it on purpose? Or subconsciously?

“It was so fucking awful,” Malfoy continued. “The smell was everywhere. I felt like I traipsed through the whole bloody forest…which, by the way…” he looked at Hagrid, “we may actually want to do. The acromantula’s seem to have expanded their territory again. Soon they’ll be encroaching on the centaurs.”

Hagrid shook his head. “Those buggers...ever since Aragog died, they’ve been pushin’ and pushin’. Tha’s not a bad idea, though. Map it all out…if only t’ see how things is changin.’”

“I can absolutely help with that,” Malfoy replied, pointing his beer bottle at Hagrid before taking another gulp. “As for the smell, by the time I finally managed to find the source, I was back to the forest perimeter, not far from the lake.”

“So what was it?” Hermione asked in exasperation.

He looked at her and smirked. Bloody hell, he was dragging this out on purpose.

“ What was it? ” she asked again, and punched him on the shoulder playfully. Mostly. 

“Hey now,” he laughed, and rubbed his arm. “There’s no need to get violent…”

“That? That wasn’t violent. But I will get my wand if you don’t tell me what the bloody hell that smell was!” she threatened with a smile.

He looked at her for another uncomfortably long space of time. He was so close to her. So…relaxed. Which seemed so different from all their past interactions. Typically he’d be clenching his teeth, flaring his nostrils and desperately trying to move away from her. Now, he was sitting right next to her, his leg very intentionally pressed up against hers, and he was smiling. 

He had a really nice smile.

It suddenly occurred to her what had caused all these changes. 

She knew.  

Knew what he was, knew how much he enjoyed her scent. Enjoyed her presence. 

She realised that by sitting right next to her, he must be completely enveloped by her odour.

Even though he struggled to be honest with his words, she could see now that he was able to be honest through his actions.. He wanted to be near her. To smell her. 

And so, he’d sat right next to her. Simple as that.

“Would ya’ jus’ tell the lass what it is yeh found?” Hagrid asked Malfoy. He had a funny look on his face looking at the two of them. 

A twinkle in his eye.

He saw it too. He saw Malfoy being flirtatious with Hermione.

“Wait,” Hermione said, looking at Hagrid. “You know what he found?”

“O’ course,” he replied. “I’ve known since he described tha’ blood as smellin’ rancid.”

Hermione looked back at Malfoy and raised her eyebrows in expectation. 

“A vampire,” he told her. Hermione looked at him in surprise.

“In the forest?” she asked incredulously.

Malfoy looked at her like she was daft. “Yes, in the forest. It’s what we’ve been talking about this whole time. A smell…in the forest.” He bit his lips, trying not to smile. 

“I take it he weren’t no problem for yeh?” Hagrid asked, again knowing full well what the answer was.

“Nah,” Malfoy shook his head. “He couldn’t figure me out, though…tried to seduce and enchant me, then when it was clear that wouldn’t work, he tried to attack me.”

“What do you mean he tried to seduce you?” Hermione asked, feeling…something. 

Not jealousy. Definitely not jealousy. Why would she be jealous of a random vampire in the forest?

“Well, Hermione, tha’s how they enchant yeh,” Hagrid informed her. “Need to get up real close, like…”

Hermione looked at Malfoy. “And he tried this with you?”

“He did.” Malfoy frowned. “Not a bad looking guy, objectively speaking…tall, a bit lanky, long brown hair tied back in a queue. I could see him doing real well with anyone who’s into slightly effeminate men.” He paused and scratched his chin. If Hermione looked closely, she could see there was stubble there. It was just really hard to see because it was so light. 

“He didn’t get far, of course…started in on me, speaking sweet nothings about everlasting life and invincibility,” Malfoy shrugged, “I laughed. Asked if his bargain included dulled senses and utter stupidity…”

“You didn’t…” Hermione said, taking a sip of her…third? fourth? beer.

“I did. Vampires are supposed to have heightened senses. He should have figured out I was stalking him long before I ever found him. And if he didn’t, he should have at least known as soon as I stepped in front of him he wasn’t dealing with a typical Hogwarts student. That I wasn’t human. That his seduction and enchantment wouldn’t work on me.” 

“Wha’ happened then?” Hagrid asked.

“He got upset…petulant, really. Then he lunged at my neck, teeth bared.”

“What did you do?” Hermione asked, her eyes wide.

“I blocked his lunge then snapped his neck.”

Hermione gasped. “You killed him?”

“No, no….” Hagrid assured her, “...it’d take mor’ than a broke neck to kill a vampire.”

Malfoy nodded in agreement, looking completely unconcerned. “He’ll be fine.”

“But what is he doing here?” Hermione asked, looking between Hagrid and Malfoy.

“I assume he’s here because he’s enchanted someone to feed on...” Malfoy shrugged.

“I s’pect yer right,” Hagrid said, drinking the entire contents of a butterbeer in one gulp.

“So what do we do?” Hermione asked.

“Well,” Malfoy cocked his head to one side, thinking, “...the vampire’s not a concern. At least not for a few hours. I say we wait to see who shows up to the feast.”   

They all agreed. 

At Hermione’s suggestion they turned out the lights – to look like Hagrid wasn’t home, or was asleep, and to make it easier to watch out the windows. Hagrid took the window to the right of the door, while Hermione and Malfoy shared the window on the left. There was plenty of room for the both of them, and yet somehow Malfoy’s arm was right up against hers.

She didn’t mind.

There was far more activity on the school grounds this late on a Saturday night than Hermione would have thought. Professor Sprout appeared to be cultivating something-or-other by the greenhouses. Some first or second years were out after curfew and running up and down the front steps of the school. A group of older students were smoking by the lake. Half a dozen thestrals were flying over the forest. 

Slowly but surely, though, things quieted down. The students returned inside. Professor Sprout did as well. Even the thestrals seemed to tire themselves out.

About ten minutes later, when Hermione’s back was starting to hurt, a lone figure emerged from the shadows and made its way towards the forest. They all leaned in to see better, but only Malfoy could.

“Who is it?” Hermione breathed.

Malfoy huffed. “Fuck me,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s Finch-Fletchley.”

“Justin?”

Malfoy looked at her with a frown. “Is that his name? He’s a Hufflepuff….”

Hermione nodded.

“Blimey…” Hagrid said. “An ‘ere I was hopin’ we weren’t gonna see nobody.” He sighed, shook his head. “Alright then,” he looked at Hermione and Malfoy, “...you two get goin.’ Leave through tha’ back door so Justin don’t see ya’. I’ll go take care o’ him.”

“Do you want help?” Hermione asked.

“Nah..this is ain’t for the two of yeh…this ain’t a students’ job. I’m the professor, so I’ll take care of it.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. Now go on then.”

He waved them towards the back door.

“An’ Draco, you make sure Hermione gets back up to Gryffindor Tower, yeh hear?”

Malfoy looked down at Hermione. “It’s not even a question, Hagrid.”

Hagrid nodded, and then without another word made his way out the front door. 

“It’s not even a question?” Hermione asked.

Malfoy shook his head. “Consider me your personal escort,” he replied.

“You think I need one?”

“I know you need one,” he almost laughed as he opened the back door and held it for her. “In the last few weeks you’ve been assaulted by your ex, encountered a werewolf, and now there’s a vampire on the prowl…”

“You said he wasn’t a threat for at least a few hours.”

“Maybe he has friends…”

Hermione couldn’t help smiling as she passed by him and stepped out the door.

They walked in companionable silence to the school. When they reached the main entrance Malfoy held the door open for her – again – then followed her in, and up to Gryffindor Tower.

“How long do you think Justin has been feeding that thing?” she asked when they were on the third floor staircase.

Malfoy shrugged. “Who knows…I can’t say I really knew what he looked like before, so I can’t compare if he’s looking drawn out now.” He considered a moment, then continued, “Besides…it’s not like folks around here are likely to comment on anyone looking particularly pale or tired.”

Hermione looked at him.

“What?” he asked. “Not one bloody person asked why I was so fucking pale. How my hair had turned silver. Why my eyes had changed colour. Not one.”

“I noticed….”

“Did you, now?” Malfoy drawled.

“I did,” Hermione admitted, her cheeks getting warm.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Hermione took a deep breath. “Because we were never friends before, I guess. Didn’t seem my place to just randomly accost you, and ask why your looks had changed.”

He nodded. “That’s fair.”

“Am I off the hook?” she asked, looking up at him with a smile.

“You are.”

“Thank Godric for that,” she chuckled.

He nudged her with his shoulder as they reached the seventh floor and headed toward the Fat Lady. 

Chapter Text

Nearly constant quidditch practice kept Malfoy busy the following week. Hermione barely saw him apart from classes, during which he was the complete opposite of how he had previously been. In potions class, he sat right next to her, leaned into her personal bubble to smell her, and found ridiculous reasons to touch her or her hair.

It should have annoyed her. 

But it didn’t. 

He was, by all accounts, charming and flirtatious.

Rationally speaking, she should have used this time to process everything he’d told her, and reassess her opinion and feelings about him. 

About the fact he’d died. That he’d come back to life a zombie, and ate brains. About how none of that erased any of his past bullying and all around arseholery. 

But Hermione was not, apparently, a rational person when it came to Draco Malfoy. 

Instead of thinking logically and analysing the situation with charts enumerating strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, and threats, she found herself feeling her way through this one. If she was being completely honest, it made her a little uncomfortable. Feeling wasn’t something she typically did. But considering the preposterous circumstances she found herself in – that a zombie Draco Malfoy fancied her – she just didn’t know what else there was to do. 

So, she decided to go with her gut. And her gut had been filled with an almost constant swarm of extremely insistent butterflies ever since she’d seen him at Hagrid’s. 

There didn’t seem any point in fighting it. She’d never had anyone like Malfoy pay attention to her. Favour her. Flirt shamelessly with her. 

She was embarrassed to admit she quite liked it.

She loved it, really.

Until her friends called her out on it, that is.

“So what’s the deal with you and Malfoy ?” Ginny asked in one of her rare appearances at dinner on Thursday evening. Like Malfoy, she was practising and training almost non-stop for Saturday’s big game.

Hermione looked up from her pudding like a deer caught in the headlights. “What do you mean? We’re potions partners.”

Harry cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “Hermione…I’m potions partners with Hannah Abbott…” He ran his hand through his hair, “...and we’re not anything like you and Malfoy this week.”

“How have we been?” she asked innocently.

Harry scratched his chin as he considered. “Well…I mean…” He looked at Ginny, then his eyes passed over a few more of their friends, before returning to Hermione. “He’s flirting with you.”

He said it like it was a bad thing. Like it was something shameful.

“So?” Hermione asked. Ginny snorted, appearing absolutely delighted by the response. 

“So?” Harry replied. “It’s Malfoy, Hermione. He’s…he’s… Malfoy .” 

Hermione sighed.

“Harry,” she started very seriously and matter-of-factly, “...as I’m sure you’ve noticed, the war is over. We both testified at his trial to keep him out of Azkaban, because he didn’t deserve it. He isn’t now, and never really was, a Death Eater,” she held up her hand to stop Harry from interrupting,  “...despite his mark.” 

She took a breath. “Was he awful in the past? Yes. I’m not arguing that. He grew up with terrible values and role models…it’s surprising he isn’t still completely awful. But he’s not. Not now. Not to me, at least.” She paused and shrugged. “Besides,” she finally said, “he’s really quite fit.”

Ginny burst out laughing, earning a glare from Harry. “What?” she asked, looking mischievously at her boyfriend. “He is very attractive…”

“You think so too?” he asked in disbelief.

“Harry,” she answered, catching Hermione’s eye, “ every girl at Hogwarts thinks Malfoy is attractive…it’s just until now he was too much of a bigot and a prick for anyone to consider him boyfriend material.”

“And now he’s not?” Neville piped in.

Hermione shook her head. “No, Neville. Now he’s not.”

“People don’t just change like that,” Ron put in rather harshly. “If you think he has, Hermione, then you’re not the brightest witch of our age. You’re just like every other fucking slag in this school who thinks with her—”

“Stop right there,” Ginny interrupted.

Ron scowled at his sister, then looked back at Hermione. “You’re pathetic and naïve if you think Malfoy wants anything to do with you that doesn’t involve repairing his family name and reputation.”

Hermione leaned back, physically distancing herself from her former friend and partner. She was shocked by Ron’s viciousness, and surprised to discover how ugly and repulsive he had become to her. His harsh tone, his glowering look, and his dull eyes left him looking and sounding nothing like the honest, playful and sweet young man she’d fallen for all those years ago. Despite things not working out between them, Hermione had — until recently — still been able to see all those qualities she’d loved about him. 

But not anymore. Now he was just mean and cruel. There was nothing beautiful left in him.

As for his take on Malfoy’s motivations…she supposed it could be true. If there wasn’t the whole ‘scent’ thing. 

But of course Ron didn’t know about that. 

It didn’t matter. It wasn’t any of his business why Malfoy was flirting with her, or even why Hermione enjoyed it. 

Because Ron was nothing to Hermione now. He was an aggressor, an attacker, and an enemy. As far as Hermione was concerned, Ron posed a far greater threat to her than Malfoy. 

She stood up, stepped over the bench, and looked at him. She shook her head. “It must be so awful to hold on to such anger, Ronald. Such jealousy. I feel terrible for you.”

Then, she turned on her heel, and walked straight out of the Great Hall.

-

Malfoy and Theodore Nott entered the transfiguration classroom just as the professor was waving his wand to shut the door. As they slipped into their usual seats at the back of the class, Hermione couldn’t help looking over her shoulder. 

At him .

While Nott was pulling parchment and quills out of his book bag, Malfoy just sat down and crossed his legs. He looked at her and winked, a playful little smile just teasing the edge of his lips.

Bloody hell.

Hermione gave him a slight frown, then turned back around and focused on the professor as he began his lesson. They were discussing animagi and how the technique used to transform oneself into an animal was effectively a highly targeted form of transfiguration – one that could be performed over and over again and always produce the exact same result. Animagi did not choose what to transfigure themselves into. They simply tapped into something that was already there – some inherent animal quality – and transfigured into it.

It was, apparently, the same latent characteristic that determined the form of one’s patronus. Which meant that should Hermione ever become an animagus, she would turn into an otter. 

She looked over her shoulder – just briefly – to check that Malfoy was still there, though she really had no idea how or why he might have left in the middle of a lesson.

She checked on him again about ten minutes later. 

And then again.

He smirked, pointed at his eyes with his index and middle fingers, then pointed them to the front of the classroom, indicating that’s where she should be looking.

He was right, of course. 

She blushed, and turned her attention back to the lesson.

The professor was, unfortunately, not nearly as interesting to look at, or ogle, as Malfoy. 

She considered him for a moment. 

He wasn’t particularly good looking. Yes, he had nice eyes – but they were hidden behind thick smudged lenses – and they weren’t intense or penetrating or vibrant blue…

His voice was somewhat melodic, but the delivery of his lectures lacked a certain something – a certain drawl – that Hermione now craved. 

No. On the whole, the professor quite simply had nothing on the allures of Draco Malfoy.

Hermione pinched the skin between her thumb and forefinger, forcing herself to pay attention.

Fighting the urge to look over her shoulder again. 

To look at him .

It occurred to her she’d never actually had this problem before. Never in all her years at Hogwarts had she been distracted in class because of a boy – or rather, a man . 

And Draco Malfoy was definitely (still?) a man. 

It was all very new to her. Rather vexing, really, but also kind of fun. The butterflies in her stomach were equal parts anxiety and excitement – the fluttering of anticipation. 

In any event, it’s not like she hadn’t already read ahead in the textbook and done some supplemental reading on the subject. Everything the professor was saying was familiar. Her grades were unlikely to suffer if she was a little distracted in class.

A lot distracted.

Either way.

For the rest of the lecture, Hermione tried desperately to focus and keep herself facing forward. Her knee bounced at a constant and rapid pace. Her eyes squinted in concentration. Her hands were covered in ink smudges from her sloppy, distractedly scribbled notes.

When the class finally came to an end, she sighed in relief. She looked at Harry, who just shook his head in exasperation. 

“What?” she asked.

“You’ve got it bad,” he told her as he stood up and grabbed his book bag. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that…” he added earnestly. “I’d just prefer if it weren’t for Malfoy …”

Ron snorted from over Harry’s shoulder, looking at Hermione with pure unadulterated hatred. Or was it jealousy? Loathing? Maybe longing?

She couldn’t tell.

Whichever it was, it was dangerous. 

She didn’t want to think about it, or about him. Instead, she focused on her satchel, and methodically put away her books, parchment, quill and ink pots.

“Piss off, Weasley.”

Hermione looked up quickly – practically giving herself whiplash – to find Malfoy sliding into Harry’s recently vacated seat. He gave Ron a look that said he’d eviscerate him if he didn’t make himself scarce. 

Harry peered at Malfoy with something that was probably meant to be a frown, but that he quickly smoothed over to make neutral.  

“Malfoy,” he said, with almost no intonation whatsoever.

Impressive.

“Potter,” was the reply, with a small nod.

Harry looked at Hermione and shrugged ever so slightly. “We’ll catch up in a bit?” he asked.

Hermione looked from Harry to Malfoy.

“I was hoping to walk you up to Gryffindor Tower,” Malfoy said, shifting in his seat and leaning in slightly, his nostrils flaring as he breathed her in. 

Her scent. 

The scent that made him want to lick her whole body. 

“—so we could talk before quidditch practice,” he finished, pulling her back to the conversation.

“Yeah, sure,” Hermione replied, battling the butterflies in her stomach and attempting to sound calm. To keep her voice from shaking. 

She looked at Harry. “I’ll meet you in the common room later, and we can head down to dinner together.”

Harry nodded in agreement, while Ron stared at Hermione from over his shoulder.

“What do you even think you’re doing, Hermione?” he seethed. “Playing friends with the Slytherin?”

“Ronald…” Hermione warned, shaking her head.

Malfoy turned around in his seat, his eyes narrowing. “Slytherins make fantastic friends, Weasel. We’re smart, clever, resourceful...” he paused, and smirked, “...we’re also very determined when we set our minds to something.” He looked behind himself at Hermione, then back to Ron. “When we… want …something.”

“You fucking predator,” Ron snarled and tried to lunge forward. Harry moved quickly between them, catching his friend.

Malfoy stood up, completely calm. He cracked his knuckles. “You’re calling me a predator?” he hissed. “After I had to pull you off Hermione? After you attacked her?”

“I didn’t attack her.”

“Bollocks,” Malfoy replied instantly. “She was fucking terrified, Weasel. You had your hand—”

Hermione heard a loud ringing in her ears. She couldn’t believe what was happening. Couldn’t believe they were talking about this. Now. Here . 

She looked around the classroom which was, mercifully, empty. But it didn’t help, not really. 

She started breathing rapidly. Her heart rate spiked. Her skin, hot and clammy. She couldn’t get enough oxygen into her lungs.

She tried to take deeper breaths but they didn’t help. 

Her fingers started to tingle. Then, her face.

Malfoy turned and looked at her, frowning. He spoke to Harry, but kept his eyes trained on Hermione. “Get that cocksucker out of here, Potter. Now .”

Harry glanced around Malfoy at Hermione, his brows drawing together with concern.

“She’ll be fine. I’ll take care of her,” Malfoy assured him.

Harry seemed to hesitate a moment, making a decision, then nodded and pushed Ron towards the door. “Come on,” he said under his breath. 

Ron looked over Harry’s shoulder, his expression positively murderous. “You’re leaving her with him ?” he spluttered in disbelief.

“I am,” Harry confirmed, and steered Ron out the classroom, muttering under his breath the whole way.

Malfoy turned and pulled Hermione into his chest. Wrapping his arms around her, he began rubbing soothing circles on her back. 

“Breathe…” he whispered into her hair. “In and out. Nice and steady.”

Hermione leaned into him, taking comfort from him. It didn’t matter that his embrace was cold and hard, because he was full of feeling. Of affection. She focused on her breathing, trying to take deep, slow, full breaths. The tingling went away and she nestled her face against him. Listening to his heartbeat. 

It was so… slow . Much slower than it should be, but steady. Constant. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured as he wrapped his arms even more tightly around her, pulling her closer. 

“For what?” she said into his shirt.

She could feel him shaking his head, smoothing her hair out of the way. “For provoking Weasley. I shouldn’t have.” He took a deep breath and continued, “I just hate that fucker so bloody much…”

Hermione looked up at him when she heard the venom in his voice. “You don’t hate Harry that much, do you?” she asked with uncertainty.

He pulled away from her so he could look down at her, his brows drawing together.

“I don’t hate Potter at all,” he replied, cocking his head. “I don’t care about old school rivalries, Hermione. Those are in the past. They’re over. I hate the weasel because of what he did to you.”

She stared at him. His gaze was so intense. So focused. So serious. 

She knew in that instant he meant it. He hated Ron because of what he’d done to her.

Because he’d hurt her. Scared her. 

Malfoy ran a hand up her arm and reached up. Caressed her cheek. His fingers were so cold, but still gentle. Soft… delicate . 

She saw him look at her lips. 

He licked his own. 

His lips were pale, like the rest of him, but his tongue wasn’t. It was a bright, healthy pink.

She couldn’t help wondering if it was cold, too. 

Hermione cleared her throat and stepped back out of Malfoy’s arms. She took her satchel and slung it over her shoulder. “You wanted to talk to me?” she asked, and started moving towards the classroom door, suddenly desperate to get a move on. 

She was fearful he’d notice her increasing heart rate. The blood rushing to her cheeks and…further down.

He followed her out of the classroom and fell in step with her as they entered the hallway. Took her satchel off her shoulder and hitched it over his own.

“You don’t have to carry my bag, you know. I’m perfectly capable,” she chided him.

“I know,” he replied. “I want to.”

“Is this a pureblood thing?”

He looked at her in confusion.

“Like, something gentlemen are supposed to do?”

“You think I’m a gentleman?” he asked with a twitch of his lips.

Hermione couldn’t help smiling and shook her head. “That remains to be seen,” she responded teasingly. 

Malfoy chuckled and adjusted their bags on his shoulder. “Don’t be disappointed when you discover I’m not.” 

She looked up at him and found him staring right back at her, a devilish little grin just desperate to break free.

Hermione shook her head, and tried not to smile. 

“Soooo,” she said as they started up the stairs. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Oh, right,” he replied. “Two things. First,” he stopped and cleared his throat. “Have you heard anything about Finch-Fletchley? I tried asking Hagrid but he kept his mouth shut, which was…surprising, really.” He scratched the back of his neck.

Hermione sighed. “Nothing, strangely. He wasn’t in charms on Monday, but showed up Wednesday and this morning. He looks…” she tried to find the right words. “...he looks overly healthy, if that makes sense? Like he’s had an abundance of blood replenishing potions.”

“That checks out,” Malfoy replied with a nod. “Nothing else?”

Hermione bit her lip, thinking. “No. I mean, he seemed kind of…droopy. Sad, maybe? Depressed? But I don’t know him well enough to say for sure, and I don’t think I’m in a position to ask. We’re friendly, but not friends .” 

They got to the top of the steps and turned down the corridor. 

“As for Hagrid, you can’t ask him anything outright. If you want him to tell you classified information, you need to be more subtle. Get him talking about other things, and then rather circuitously touch on the subject. Then, just wait for him to bite.”

Malfoy knocked her shoulder ever so slightly. “That’s very Slytherin of you,” he grinned.

Hermione couldn’t help grinning back.

“And it was very Gryffindor of you to ask him outright.”

Malfoy stopped walking, put his hand on his chest, feigning injury. “I don’t know if I should be insulted by that comment or not…”

“It does seem very uncharacteristic of you,” she teased.

He grimaced. “It does. Fuck .” 

He shook his head and started walking again, seeming to contemplate the new Gryffindor-like lows he’d reached.

“I’ll see if I can get anything out of Hagrid this weekend,” Hermione told him. “I do have seven more years experience wheedling information out of him.”

Malfoy nodded slightly in acknowledgement and took a deep breath as they approached the Fat Lady. When Hermione made to stop and get her satchel, he took her by the elbow and steered her past the portrait. Landed her a few feet away and leaned against the wall, looking at her with those incredibly blue eyes.

“Was there something else? You said there were two things,” Hermione asked.

“There was,” he said, suddenly looking uncomfortable. 

Out of his element. 

He ran his hand through his hair, and narrowed his eyes slightly. “You’ll be at the match tomorrow?” he asked.

That… wasn’t what Hermione had been expecting him to ask. 

“Of course I’ll be there,” she replied, somewhat nonplussed. “It’s Gryffindor-versus-Slytherin…”

“I know,” he said. “Obviously. It’s just…”

“Just what, Malfoy?”

He bit his lower lip and dropped their satchels to the floor. 

He scratched the stubble on his chin. Shifted his feet.

“Malfoy?” she prompted.

He swallowed noticeably, cleared his throat and then finally asked, “Will you cheer for me?” He looked mortified…desperate. 

Hopeful ?

Hermione couldn’t believe him. “But…” she looked up at him and saw longing in his eyes. “But you’re on the opposing team,” she said, somewhat lamely.

“I know,” he scowled. “You don’t have to cheer for Slytherin, just…” he tilted his head and reached out, pulling one of her curls straight and watching it bounce back when he let it go. “Just for me. You know…if I catch the snitch.”

He looked so vulnerable. So awkward and unsure of himself. Like he was putting himself way outside his comfort zone asking her to do this. 

Looking into his beautifully intense blue eyes, she knew she couldn’t refuse him. She didn’t think she could refuse him anything if he asked her – if he looked at her that way.

“ Only if you catch the snitch,” she replied playfully. “And it had better be an impressive catch…” she clarified, poking his shoulder.

Malfoy’s eyes lit up and he caught her hand in his, holding it in his cool grip, in his long, slender fingers. “Just remember when Gryffindor loses...” he looked at her with a mischievous little smile, “...you asked for it." 

He rubbed little circles into her palm with his thumb, sending a delightful frisson throughout Hermione’s body. Her heart rate spiked – a desperate thump, thump, thump, that she could feel in her chest, as well as somewhere much, much lower…just from the touch of his hand. 

She couldn’t help wondering – was the palm of the hand an erogenous zone? It had to be. It was the only explanation for why she was suddenly contemplating what it would feel like to have that cool hand caress her bare skin. Those slender fingers between her legs. 

Inside her.

Oh gods. 

No. She wasn’t prepared for this. She wasn’t ready to be so overwhelmed by him – by the way he made her feel.

Hermione dragged her gaze away from Malfoy’s intense one and snatched her hand away, clenching it into a fist. She licked her lips and cleared her throat. “I, ummm…” She pushed her hair out of her face, then bent down and picked up her satchel. “I should get going,” she finally got out. “Harry’s waiting for me.”

It was totally lame. A pathetic excuse. 

And she knew it.

But she couldn’t help it. She had to get out of there, out of his presence, before she did something stupid. Before she had time to consider if she wanted to do something stupid.

With Malfoy .

His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched. He gave a curt nod and pushed off the wall. “Yeah, of course,” he said, looking disappointed. Let down.

Hermione forced herself not to run away. To stand her ground and not make a complete mess of things. 

To somehow salvage her chicken-shittedness. 

“Remember,” she said with mock seriousness, “it’s got to be an impressive catch tomorrow.”

He grinned. “Oh it will be,” he replied with certainty. “And after I’ve caught the snitch, I’m going to look for you. And you better be cheering.”

“I will be,” she blushed. “Just for you.”

-

When Hermione went to bed that night, she closed the curtains on her four-poster, moving this way and that, and tried to get comfortable. 

When she finally found a good position, she pulled the blankets up to her chin and closed her eyes. 

Ready – desperate – for sleep to take her.

Her brain, unfortunately, had other ideas.

She was immediately bombarded with images and snippets of her day. 

Of Malfoy. 

Of his eyes. His playful grin. His arms around her. His heartbeat. His hands rubbing circles on her back. His thumb caressing her cheek. Rubbing the palm of her hand. 

That hopeful look on his face. The delight when she’d finally agreed to cheer for him. Even if it was with conditions.

She turned on her back and opened her eyes and sighed. 

She stared at the canopy above her. 

Fuck .

No doubt about it, she was…aroused.

She pulled her hair off her face and neck, piling it on her pillow. She smoothed out her blankets. Stretched her legs. Sighed again.

Thoughts about Malfoy’s smile overwhelmed her. The way he licked his lips. His pink tongue. 

Wondered again if it would be cold like the rest of him. How it would feel licking her… everywhere .

Fuck, fuck, fuck .

Hermione huffed and sat up. She reached through her curtains to her bedside table and found her wand, casting a silencing charm on her four-poster bed.

She settled back into her pillows and reached under her blankets. Pulled her sleep t-shirt up and ran her hands over her breasts. 

She circled her nipples, rolling them between her fingers. 

She sighed deeply. Keeping one hand on her breast while the other ran down her stomach, she found the waistband to her pyjama bottoms and slid her hand under. She pulled her knees up and opened them wide, bringing her middle finger straight to her slit. Felt the desire that had already accumulated there. 

She dipped in just a little bit, before pulling her finger back out and up through her folds. She dragged it back and forth a few times, and then up to her clit. She rubbed it softly at first. Caressing it. Teasing it. 

Enjoying the flutter of sensations it created. 

She returned to her slit, and slid her finger in as deep as it could go, pulled out and added another. Began pumping, pushing the palm of her hand against her mound. 

She let herself imagine it was Malfoy’s hand instead of hers.

She moaned and abandoned her breast, pushing her hair back off her face while she continued to finger herself. 

Increasing the pace. 

Bucking her hips. 

She rolled over onto her stomach so she could push harder against her palm, increasing the pressure on her now throbbing clit. Oh gods , she was desperate. 

She panted into her pillow, mushing her face into it.

Extracting her fingers, she moved them to her clit and focused all her attention on it. 

Rubbing vigorously. 

Desperately. 

Her hips bucked rapidly, and she felt an increase in the intensity of the throbbing between her legs. A delicious all-consuming beat. Like her heart, but lower, and far more needy.

She was desperate to come. 

Hermione bucked faster and rubbed harder. Grimacing in concentration. Every fibre of her being focused on the sensations in her cunt.

The throbbing. 

The pulsing. 

The rippling desire emanating out from it. 

“Nngghhh…” she groaned into her pillow as she felt her climax approaching. 

She ran her fingers through her folds and reinserted them into her cunt and pumped. Her other hand snaked down to rub her clit. 

Godric fucking Gryffindor.

She bucked erratically, panting and moaning on every thrust. 

She felt her cunt clench on her fingers, and came hard and fast. Harder than she had ever managed on her own before.

Hermione turned onto her back and breathed deeply, staring at the canopy above her bed. Catching her breath.

Now at least she’d be able to sleep.

She got up and padded barefoot to the bathroom to use the toilet and wash her hands. She went straight back to bed and pulled the curtains around her. 

She sighed contentedly, closed her eyes and started drifting off. 

Her mind wandered. She’d never masturbated while thinking of an actual person before. Someone she knew . 

Usually it was some made up dream man, or a character from a novel or a movie.

She wondered if that was why she’d come so hard. Because it wasn’t a dream man, but a real one. 

Someone far more tangible. 

In her reach. 

Someone who’d shown an interest in her. In being with her. 

He liked the way she smelled. He wanted to lick her all over.  

Wanted to eat her…but not in that way.

Her eyes shot open.

He liked the way she smelled.

Everything that had happened in the last few weeks indicated that Malfoy could smell Hermione…everywhere. She knew that he could track her, could smell her intimately.

So much so, in fact, that he knew when she was scared. Knew when she was menstruating. 

Which meant…he had to know when she was aroused. 

When she pleasured herself.

Hermione felt a sinking sensation, as if her blood had drained from her body. She cradled her head in her hands, cursing herself for being so bloody stupid.

For thinking a silencing charm was all she’d needed to get herself off without anyone being the wiser. But now she thought about it, she knew, with absolute certainty, that Malfoy also knew. She knew he’d heard her increased heartbeat after transfiguration. Knew he’d smelled her arousal. 

And she was one hundred percent certain he knew she’d just fucked herself.

-

Saturday morning was pandemonium.

Everyone was at the quidditch match.

It didn’t matter what house they belonged to, everyone was excited for the big Gryffindor-versus-Slytherin game.

Their ongoing rivalry aside, the Slytherins had been playing superbly this year. It was thought they might even beat Gryffindor, winning the Quidditch Cup for the first time in years. Well, since Harry had become Gryffindor’s seeker. 

Could his girlfriend truly replace him? Keep up their winning streak? Many were sceptical. 

Malfoy was just too good. 

It didn’t matter that Ginny Weasley had a superior broom, Malfoy was too fast, too agile, too strong. 

That he hadn’t bought himself a Firebolt puzzled many. It just made everything he did on an outdated Nimbus 2001 all the more impressive.

The stands were crowded. Packed. Hermione found herself wedged between Harry and Luna, who, of course, was wearing her lion headdress in support of her best friend. As a result, her typically petite frame took up far more space than usual. It was… awful …to sit next to. It roared and shook its mane constantly. 

She wished Luna had left it in the school. 

Or burned it. 

Thankfully, the weather was good. Cloaks, hats, scarves and mittens were still necessary, but it was comfortable. The sun was already getting stronger, and Hermione didn’t even need to cast a warming charm. Harry and Luna on either side of her were enough.

When the two teams came onto the pitch, the crowd went wild. Cheering, whistling and hollering for their favourite team. Shouting insults and trash-talking the other. Although, if she really paid attention, the cheering was for Gryffindor. The trash-talk for Slytherin.

It didn’t matter. The Slytherin team looked confident as they mounted their brooms.

Malfoy looked absolutely brilliant. Both in an overall sense – Hermione couldn’t help admiring how he looked in his quidditch kit – and literally. 

His silver hair shone in the sunshine. His pale skin almost glowed. He was a vision of colourless beauty. 

At least she thought so, anyway.

As the players warmed up, Malfoy flew around the pitch a few times. It didn’t look so much like he was preparing for the match, but like he was already looking for something. For someone .

He flew over the Gryffindor stands more often than any other, always circling back to them. 

On his last pass he stopped and hovered, looking slightly confused.

“What’s he doing?” Neville wondered from the bench behind Hermione.

“Looks like he’s trying to find someone,” Lavender replied.

“Maybe it’s me,” Parvati suggested, and both girls dissolved into giggles.

Hermione tsked and turned around, ready to roll her eyes at them. She opened her mouth to tell them not to be so ridiculous, then paused. 

Fucking bint.

He was looking for her . He could probably smell her, but couldn’t find her. Why?

She looked at Luna sitting next to her in that ridiculously oversized lion hat and finally understood. She huffed slightly, and pushed Luna’s headdress out of the way.

Malfoy’s eyes zeroed in on her immediately. A slight smile pulled at his lips, then he turned and flew away, joining his teammates.

Lavender leaned over so she was level with Hermione’s ear. “Was Draco Malfoy looking for you ?”

Parvati leaned down on her other side. “Wait, you and Draco Malfoy? ” she asked with excitement.

Hermione took a deep breath. Considered denying it. It was on the tip of her tongue. 

Only…she realised she didn’t want to. 

That was…strange.

Instead, she grinned. “Not yet,” she told them. 

Harry turned to look at her. “Really?”

“Harry, I don’t want to go through this again…”

“No, no,” he interrupted. “I’m over that. You fancy Malfoy. Fine. I just…has nothing happened between the two of you yet?”

He looked genuinely surprised.

Parvati rubbed her hands together and grinned between them. Loving the front row seat to the latest school gossip unfolding right in front of her.

Hermione looked at her best friend. “ Should something have?”

Harry pushed up his glasses. “Well,” he started. Then stopped and looked at her incredulously. “If not before, then surely after yesterday’s transfiguration class?”

Oh. 

Right.

Yesterday’s Transfiguration Class. When Hermione had twice been a complete chicken shit and put an immediate stop to anything happening. 

Hermione frowned, features pulling into an outright grimace. She glanced at her audience, which had grown, capturing the attention of even Dean and Seamus.

And Ron. Fuck, he was listening too.

“It would have, Harry, but I chickened out! Alright? I panicked.” 

Harry shook his head. “You think too much,” he concluded succinctly. 

“I do!” she shouted in agreement and dramatically gestured to the pitch. “Now can we please watch the bloody match instead of talking about my failure to get to first base with Draco Malfoy? ?”

They all looked in the direction of her wave. The match had indeed started and none of them had noticed. Everyone but Lavender and Parvati had the decency to look chagrined, and started paying attention. But both girls kept their heads bent down next to Hermione’s. 

“If Slytherin wins, maybe you can reward Malfoy with a kiss,” Parvati said with a sly little smile, then leaned back to watch the game. 

Lavender hesitated a moment, then leaned even closer to Hermione’s ear. “You remember what I said about Malfoy, don’t you?”

Hermione turned slightly towards the other woman and nodded. 

“I do,” she confirmed. “He’s…he’s told me all about it.” She looked at Lavender, hoping she wasn’t making a mistake telling her even this much. “He’s been nothing but honest with me. I—” she pulled a strand of hair out of her mouth. “I trust him.”

Lavender seemed to think about this for a moment, then put her hand on Hermione’s shoulder.

“Like I said before, I don’t remember much when I’m a wolf. But I can tell you this about that night…” she looked at Hermione meaningfully. “He was protecting you.”

“I know,” Hermione replied. “It wasn’t the first…” she pursed her lips and shook her head in disbelief. “Or the last time he’s done that.”

Lavender looked satisfied. “Okay, good.” 

She squeezed Hermione’s shoulder then leaned back and resumed giggling with her best friend.

The game itself was…stupid. There was really no other way to put it. 

Hermione never had, and never would care for quidditch. It just didn’t make sense to her. 

The only witch or wizard who even slightly agreed – or at least understood – her opinions about the bloated and overly weighted points system was Dean Thomas. Like her, he was muggle born, and had been exposed to, and played, muggle sports which made much more sense to Hermione. Even American baseball made more sense than quidditch, and that was saying something.

Objectively speaking, today’s match was exciting, despite the game’s overall ridiculousness. She knew Gryffindor hoped Ginny would catch the snitch, but that Malfoy posed a serious threat to her. So their strategy was to score as many goals as possible to stay 15 points ahead of Slytherin at all times. 

Theoretically, it was a good approach. It meant that catching the snitch would end the game , but not win it for the Slytherins. 

In practice, though, that was tough to implement. The Slytherins were good this year, and not just Malfoy. All of them. 

And they were playing just as aggressively as Gryffindor.  

The beaters on both sides were kept busy, primarily targeting their opponents’ chasers. The bludgers were flying fast and hard, and there were some truly spectacular close calls and hits.

One Slytherin was playing with a bloodied nose, and it looked like Gryffindor’s youngest – and fastest – chaser might have a fractured hand. She kept playing despite this, and Hermione once again bemoaned the rules of the sport.

Two hours in, and there hadn’t been a single sighting of the snitch. 

Gryffindor was only 30 points ahead of Slytherin – a far cry from the 150 they’d need should Malfoy catch the snitch.

Hermione was getting bored.

She looked at Malfoy in the dazzling sunlight. Admired his broad shoulders and slim frame. 

Enjoyed how his trousers hugged his arse. 

He was sitting up on his broom, looking fairly relaxed, while scanning the perimeter of the pitch. Squinting.

She wondered if his zombie vision was an advantage or disadvantage in the sunlight. As far as she was aware, animals with night vision didn’t have spectacular eyesight during the day. Most of them were colour blind, as well. 

Was Malfoy colour blind? 

As she made a mental note to ask him, a cloud passed in front of the sun. She noticed Malfoy’s jaw tighten ever so slightly. His eyes narrowed just a bit.

He’d seen it.

She was sure of it.

She scanned in the direction he’d been looking – towards the Gryffindor goalposts.

Nothing.

She looked back at him. He’d started moving again.

He lazily circled the pitch, heading towards the Slytherin keeper – that arsehole Selwyn. He paused for a moment, exchanging a few words with one of his teammates – the one with the bloody nose – and then resumed his lazy meandering.

Hermione searched the pitch for Ginny. She looked far more stressed than Malfoy. Alert . Ever watchful. Eyes darting everywhere for the snitch. 

Hermione could feel Harry’s stress radiating out of him. Feel the tension in his arm which was pressed against her own. She looked up at him. His jaw was tense, and it was obvious he was no longer paying attention to the match itself. Instead, he scanned the skies. Hoping to catch a glimpse of the snitch that eluded his girlfriend.

She looked back to Malfoy. 

He was making his way towards the Gryffindor end of the pitch. He appeared…not in a rush. 

Hermione realised that he was waiting for something. His eyes seemed to flick towards the goalposts periodically, but they never stayed long. He watched as Ginny passed him on one of her loops. She could see her friend shouting something at Malfoy. He made a face, and gave some kind of retort. 

More trash-talk. 

Once Ginny was high above the Slytherin keeper, Malfoy – who’d made it almost back to Gryffindor – made his move. He shouted at the bloody-nosed chaser, who echoed it back to the team’s other chaser and beaters. 

The latter sent bludgers straight towards Gryffindor’s fractured-handed player, who dodged the bludgers but lost the quaffle. 

A beater batted it towards the bloody-faced chaser who caught it, and together with Malfoy and his counterpart, sped towards the Gryffindor goalposts. 

Ginny, still at the opposite end of the pitch, saw Malfoy moving quickly and made to intercept on her faster broom.

All the spectators leaned forward, trying to discern what the Slytherins were up to. Had Malfoy seen the snitch? He and his teammates flew fast and straight, with him in the middle.  

Gryffindor’s beaters made haste to target Slytherin’s chasers, but had bludgers of their own to duck and dodge. The two men alternated heights, passing the quaffle back and forth, over or under Malfoy. It looked like they were going to careen directly into the Gryffindor keeper who positioned herself in front of the middle hoop, unsure where the quaffle would come from – the left or the right chaser.

It came from neither of them.

At the very last minute, the chasers pulled up short and stopped – blocking Ginny who had caught up – and handed the quaffle to Malfoy. He flew straight at Gryffindor’s wide-eyed keeper. It was like a game of chicken, and the player from the house best known for bravery wasn’t up to the challenge. Unwilling to risk a straight on collision with the larger player. As soon as she pulled to her right, Malfoy veered sharply left, tossed the quaffle through the centre hoop and flew through the left one, snatching something out of the air that had been hovering just behind the goalpost.

He caught the snitch.

The crowd erupted.

It was pure and utter chaos as the Slytherins went wild, and the Gryffindors raged in defeat. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs piled into the mayhem on both sides, hyped up by the good show.

Hermione stood up and joined in the cheering.

“Hermione!” Harry shouted over the din. “We lost! What are you cheering for?” 

He looked positively scandalised.

She turned to look at him, full of disappointment for his house team and girlfriend. 

“I’m cheering for Malfoy!” she shouted with a grin. “He was utterly brilliant, wasn’t he?!”

She turned back to the pitch, and easily found Malfoy’s gleaming silver hair. The team exchanged hugs, slapping each other on the back in congratulations and completed their victory round.

As Malfoy flew by the Gryffindor stands, Hermione stuck her thumb and forefinger into her mouth and whistled. 

He paused in the air and caught her eye. Grinned widely. Brilliantly. 

Then caught up with his teammates as Hermione resumed cheering and clapping.  

Chapter Text

Draco was brooding. He was slouched down on a sofa in the Slytherin common room, a firewhiskey in hand, while a raucous celebration of the day’s quidditch win happened all around him. 

But he wasn’t participating. 

Apart from the booze involved, he really had no interest in partying. 

It had been going on for hours, and was beginning to grate on his nerves. He didn’t care for the almost constant flow of congratulations and pats on the back from housemates he barely knew. 

Didn’t like them touching him. 

Nor did he care for the fact no one seemed particularly capable of holding their liquor. 

He looked around and scowled. 

Slytherin House was loud. Obnoxious. And… malodorous . 

The longer they danced and drank and partied, the hotter they got. 

And hot teenagers smelled bad.

Draco’s heightened senses were assaulted, and it took all his self-control and willpower to stay put and pretend to participate in the joy of the day.

But it was so fucking difficult.

He raised his glass and sniffed – focusing on the scent of his aged firewhiskey, rather than his peers. 

It smelled like campfire. Ashy smoke, the sea, and…iodine. He took a sip and relished its peatiness, catching hints of vanilla, burnt caramel, and oak. 

It was strong and wonderful, and served as a good distraction from his increasingly hot and sweaty housemates.

None of it, however – not the firewhiskey or his smelly classmates – could mask the most powerful and overwhelming scent of her . 

Hermione. 

He didn’t understand how or why, but he could always smell her, no matter where she was – in or out of the castle. He could pick out her unique perfume, and track it. He always knew where she was. Always knew – in a general sense – how she was feeling. She had what he considered her baseline odour – when she was calm and presumably asleep. 

He knew she had nightmares, because she’d temporarily get hotter. Sweatier . And then calm and return to normal. 

He also knew she got hot and sweaty when she was nervous or angry. 

Cold and sweaty when she was scared. 

She smelled different when she was excited or happy. 

He knew when she was menstruating or ovulating. 

And he knew when she was aroused.

Fucking fuck .

It had taken everything in his power to walk away from her after transfiguration. When he’d held her hand. Rubbed her palm. He’d heard her heart beating faster, felt the increase in her temperature, smelled her sweat and the faint whiff of lust between her legs. 

Why had she pulled away?

Had he done something wrong?

The not knowing killed him.

Especially because he knew she’d touched herself that night. 

Oh gods.

Draco ran his hand over his face, up through his hair, and to his neck. Last night had been…difficult, to say the least. Every single fibre of his being had screamed at him to go to her. To track her down, pull that fucking Fat Lady’s portrait off the wall, risk whatever impediments there were to the Gryffindor’s girls dorms, and go to her. 

Be with her. 

Pleasure her. 

Make her come.

But she’d pulled away from him. 

So he didn’t.

Draco leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Wondering. Had she been thinking of him when she’d touched herself? Was it because of him that she’d done it?

She’d cheered for him today, just like he’d asked. Loudly. Boisterously . She even whistled. 

Surely she wouldn’t have done that if she wasn’t interested in him? If she didn’t want to encourage him?

“You look fucking pathetic.”

Draco opened his eyes to find Theo standing over him. 

“You won the game, Draco. You should be celebrating, not moping.” Theo took a sip of firewhiskey, then sat down on the sofa next to him, enveloping him in various new odours that included his inferior single malt blend, his awful cologne, the distinct smell of his perspiration, and…

“Salazar fucking Slytherin,” Draco grimaced. “How long did you wait after pulling your cock out of some poor bastard’s arse before you decided to grace me with your presence?”

Theo looked at his watch and grinned. “I didn’t,” he laughed.

“Fuck me…you know I can smell him on you, right? Bloody fucking hell…” Draco lifted his glass to his nose, in an attempt to mask the very strong evidence that Theo had very recently been fucking one of their classmates.

“Do I even want to know who it was?” he asked his best friend.

Theo shook his head. “Probably not. But I’m going to tell you anyway. It’s too good not to.”

Draco looked at Theo and raised his eyebrows, waiting.

“Otto fucking Selwyn,” Theo replied with glee.

“ Selwyn?! That little shit? I didn’t know he was into blokes.”

“Nor did he,” Theo smirked.

“Merlin’s balls, Theo,” Draco looked at his friend in exasperation. “You didn’t…”

“I didn’t,” he reassured him. “Everything was above board, entirely consensual.”

Draco sighed in relief. “Please tell me it was just a quick fuck, and not something else? I don’t think I could tolerate that little cocksucker any more than I already have to put up with him on the team.”

Theo got a pensive look on his face. “Well,” he started slowly, “…if he actually turns out to be a cocksucker, it may become a repeat event…”

“Oh fuck…” Draco groaned, and rubbed his hand over his eyes, trying desperately not to allow any related imagery to pop into his head. 

The thing about Theodore Nott was he was good looking, charming, likeable, and never had the misfortune to take the Dark Mark. He was also into any and every body. Men, women, halfbreeds, Hufflepuffs, whatever. 

And he generally managed to get whomever had caught his eye. He called himself an equal opportunist. 

Draco called him a slag.

“But to answer your real question, no. I do not fancy anything more with Otto Selwyn. I will not be inflicting him upon you.”

“Thank Merlin,” Draco said, looking at Theo and feeling thankful his best friend hadn’t completely lost his mind.

“But what about you?” Theo asked, pointing his chin in Draco’s direction.

“What about me?”

“Where’s Hermione?”

Draco cocked his head. “In the Gryffindor common room,” he replied. Closed his eyes and inhaled a little deeper, catching a hint of caramel and alcohol. “Drinking butterbeer.”

“The Gryffindors are drowning their sorrows, I expect,” Theo said mischievously. “Why don’t you go get her so she can hang out with winners, rather than a bunch of losers?”

“Her best friend is Harry fucking Potter,” Draco scoffed. “I’d hardly call him a loser.”

“Nah…” Theo waved his hand. “He defeated Voldemort what? A year ago?”

“It hasn’t even been a year…”

“Doesn’t matter. That fucker is going to ride that Chosen One designation to his grave. He doesn’t ever have to do anything else of significance, and everyone will still fall all over him for the rest of his life.” Theo sighed. “It’s really too bad he picked up with that Weasley girl so quickly. He could have cleaned up with…everyone. Ladies, men, anyone.”

“You?” Draco asked with a smirk.

Theo’s eyes went wide. “ Absolutely me,” he grinned. “I’d give my right arm for the honour to say I’d fucked the Chosen One up the arse.”

Draco couldn’t help laughing.

“Better yet, that the Chosen One had sucked my cock,” Theo continued. He sighed, taking a sip of his firewhiskey as he, presumably, imagined Potter going down on him. “But seriously, Draco. Go get her. You look fucking miserable.”

Draco ran his hand through his hair and glanced at Theo. Sighed, and shook his head in confusion, “The thing is, Theo…I don’t even know that I can be with her.” He gulped the last of his firewhiskey. “Is it worth the risk?”

Theo stared at him in wonder. “ Yes it’s worth the risk,” he almost shouted. “You’re crazy about her.”

“I am, but…”

“But nothing . You and Hermione are two of the smartest people in this school. Just be honest with her, and I assure you, you’ll figure something out.”

Draco took a deep breath, considering. 

Theo was right. He was completely crazy about Hermione. He was so fucking desperate to be with her – in any way he could. Even if he couldn’t physically do anything with her, he’d rather just sit next to her and be with her, than not. 

He nodded. “You’re right, Theo. What the fuck am I waiting for?”

“I don’t know!” Theo replied, his shoulders raised and his arms spread wide. “Go get her, Romeo.”

“Who the fuck is Romeo?” Draco scowled.

“I barely know,” Theo admitted. “Some guy from some famous play…I wasn’t really paying attention in Muggle Studies, to be honest.”

Nor had Draco, apparently.

-

The corridor outside the Gryffindor common room entrance was empty. 

Of course it was. 

It was about thirty minutes to curfew, and the Gryffindors were all in there licking their wounds – lamenting their loss to Slytherin.

Draco walked up to the Fat Lady, stopped, put his hands in his pockets and tilted his head to the side. “I guess there’s no point in asking you to let me in without a password, is there?” he asked.

“None whatsoever,” the Fat Lady replied.

Draco nodded. Sighed, and walked across the corridor to lean against the wall and wait. He stared at the Fat Lady.

She stared back at him.

He narrowed his eyes.

“If you’re thinking to intimidate me, it won’t work,” the Fat Lady warned him.

“Oh I assure you, if I wanted to intimidate you, I could,” Draco replied.

The Fat Lady pulled herself up, standing as tall as she could. “I highly doubt that,” she said haughtily.

Draco pushed off the wall and walked up to the portrait, stopping only a few inches away. He took his hands out of his pockets, cracked his knuckles, and growled. A deep guttural sound from deep inside his chest. His eyes glowed that overly intense blue they got when his senses were all working in consort and he called upon all the strength he’d been gifted when he’d died, and woke back up.

The Fat Lady’s eyes went wide. “Sir,” she started, “What are you?”

“Dead,” he replied succinctly, which wasn’t exactly true. But close enough.

The Fat Lady backed up and put her hand to her chest. “Dead?” she asked in fear. “A vampire?”

Draco frowned. “Do I look like a fucking vampire?” he asked, slightly insulted.

She shrugged. “You are pale,” she observed.

“I’ve always been pale,” he said matter-of-factly. “Even before I died.”

The Fat Lady shrugged, “I wouldn’t know. I never saw you at the tower until this year.”

She made a good point. Draco wouldn’t have been caught dead hanging about the Gryffindor common room any other year.

“Be that as it may,” he said with a sneer, “I don’t think it’d take much for me to rip your portrait off the wall.”

“You wouldn’t dare…” she said in shock.

“I would.” 

“You would be expelled!” 

“Don’t give a fuck,” he told her honestly.

It was the truth. He was only back at Hogwarts because everyone had recommended he try to be as normal as possible. And what had all the normal seventh years who’d missed their N.E.W.T.’s done? They came back for an eighth year. 

So he’d come back too. 

But he honestly didn’t care about his N.E.W.T.’s. Didn’t care about appearing normal. Not anymore. None of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was…

Fuck.

The only thing that mattered now was Hermione. 

Being near her. Helping her. Protecting her. He didn’t understand it, but all he wanted was to make her happy, safe and content. That was his goal. That was his only objective. 

Well, that and to lick and taste every inch of her body. Adore her. Pleasure her. Worship her. 

He couldn’t do any of those things if he was expelled.  

He sighed. Cocked his head as he caught the scent of two newcomers. Heard their footsteps echoing far down the corridor. 

He narrowed his eyes at the Fat Lady and backed up. Leaned against the wall again, waiting with his hands in his pockets.

Two third or fourth-year girls rounded the corner, and stopped in their tracks when they saw him. 

“Ladies,” Draco greeted them with a smile. “I’m hoping you can assist me…”

The girls giggled. Visibly checked him out. 

“Aren’t you the Slytherin seeker?” the one on the left asked.

“I am,” Draco confirmed.

“You were brilliant today,” the one on the right commented.

“Thank you,” he said, then tossed his fringe out of his eyes, causing both girls to break out into more giggles. He shook his head almost imperceptibly — teenage girls were nonsensical — and went on, “As I was saying, I could use a little help…” He scratched the back of his neck. “I need to speak with someone inside Gryffindor Tower. I’d really appreciate it if you could let them know I’m out here?”

The girl on the left nodded. “Yeah sure. Who do you need?”

She had an interesting way of putting it. He needed Hermione in so many ways.

“Hermione Granger.”

Their eyes went wide. “ You and Hermione?” More giggles.

He didn’t care for how surprised they were at the idea of him and Hermione. He cleared his throat and drew his brows together just slightly. “Yes. Can you fetch her for me?”

“Yeah sure,” the girl on the left repeated, and they giggled their way to the Fat Lady, whispered to her, and entered the tower.

Draco was left staring at the bitch in the portrait again. This time he crossed his arms and glowered at her. Waiting. Silent. 

It seemed to make the Fat Lady uncomfortable, and she attempted to pretend to focus on something else within her painting.

He knew before the portrait opened that Hermione was coming. And when she finally did step out, he nearly wept at the sight of her. 

It took him by surprise how much he’d been craving to be near her. How desperate he was. 

No wonder Theo called him pathetic. He was pathetic. Completely besotted. Needy.

It wasn’t something he was used to, but he’d been experiencing a lot of things like that since he’d died and come back.

“Malfoy, what are you doing here?” she asked, looking slightly confused but not unhappy to see him. “Shouldn’t you be celebrating with your team?”

He walked right up to her, stood dangerously close, and inhaled. Closed his eyes and just savoured her presence for a moment before answering.

“I was,” he told her. “But I wasn’t enjoying myself.”

“Why not?”

He grimaced slightly and ducked his head. “Because you weren’t there.”

Hermione licked her lips and blushed. Looked down at her feet. Took a deep breath then looked back up, saying, “I cheered for you.”

“I know,” he said, and took her hand. Started rubbing little circles on her palm, just as he’d done yesterday. He could hear her heartbeat speed up again. Desperately hoped she wouldn’t run away this time. “Thank you.”

She gave a slight shrug. 

“It was a very impressive catch.” Frowned. “I wanted to ask you…” she hesitated as Draco moved his little caresses to her wrist. “…does your night vision affect your ability to see during the day? Animals have extra rod cells to absorb more light than humans — it permits them to see at night when there’s very little of it available. It can make their vision worse during the day, though…” 

She looked up at him, her beautiful eyes wide with curiosity, and focused entirely on him.

“I have a hard time when it’s particularly bright. It hurts my eyes. Too much glare,” he admitted.

Hermione looked down at their hands. “It was a beautiful sunny day today,” she said quietly.

Draco nodded. “It was. That’s why it took me so fucking long to spot the snitch. I could barely see most of the morning. Only spotted it once it got a bit cloudy.”

“And here I was thinking you had an advantage over Gryffindor…but you really had a handicap .” She knitted her brows in consideration and scratched the back of her head with her free hand. Fluffed up her hair a little, sending waves of her delectable perfume towards Draco. 

Her hair. Her scalp. Her sweat. 

He let go of her hand and ran his own up her arm. Leaned in so he was almost hugging her, lowered his head and nuzzled his face into her hair. It was wild and unruly. Still windswept from spending the day outside. He could still catch hints of fresh air in it, all these hours later. 

It was glorious. 

If Hermione thought his behaviour strange, she gave no indication. Rather, she went with it. Leaned her cheek against his chest, reached around his waist and hugged him. Draco sighed in contentment as he rested his chin on her head. 

In absolute heaven.

“Come to the dungeons with me?” he asked.

He felt her shift in his arms. “Will I be welcome there?” she asked in a small voice.

Draco pushed her hair out of his face. “Absolutely. Slytherins are very gracious winners.”

She chuckled lightly. “Hmm…might be more fun than this lot.” She pulled away and looked up at him, indicating the tower with her chin. “They’re rather sore losers, in my opinion.”

“So you’ll come?” he asked hopefully.

Hermione nodded. “Mmmhmm…” 

She frowned and looked down at herself. “Give me a few minutes to go up and change, though. I feel like I need to wear something just a little more fashionable than a Weasley jumper.”

Though Draco quite liked how the wool smelled with Hermione’s own unique scent, he couldn’t help agreeing she’d do far better in the Slytherin common room wearing something else.

“I’ll wait right here,” he said, and backed up against the wall, hands once more in his pockets.

Hermione smiled, turned around and whispered the password to the portrait, then climbed into Gryffindor Tower.

Draco was staring at the Fat Lady. 

Again.

Bloody hell.

“You don’t deserve her, you know,” the portrait informed him.

“I know,” he replied, then proceeded to ignore her. He cracked his knuckles. Rolled up his sleeves. Stared at his feet. 

Hermione was getting hot.

He looked up quickly, and pushed off against the wall, taking a few steps towards the portrait, concentrating. She wasn’t stressed per se, but annoyed. Irritated. Her friends must be giving her a hard time about coming to join him. 

He prayed they wouldn’t change her mind.

A few minutes later, the portrait opened again and Hermione stepped out. 

Draco had been meaning to ask if everything was okay, but couldn’t. He was rendered speechless. 

His mouth hung open, but no words came out. 

He could only stare at her. At the sheer amount of exposed skin. All of it radiating her heat and scent. 

“Malfoy, are you alright?” she asked as she walked up to him, looking concerned.

He nodded ever so slightly. Closed his mouth. Continued to stare at her. Inhaling her heavenly scent.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he managed to choke out. “It’s just…” he closed his eyes, breathing her in again, “...it’s just there’s so much of you…” 

She was wearing a halter top. Barely . 

It was more like a handkerchief held on by two strings – one at her neck, and one halfway down her back. 

Draco reached out and ran his hand along her lower back. 

He just…couldn’t help himself. 

She shivered from his cold touch, but didn’t back away. Instead she moved closer, placing her hands on his chest, as he ran his hands up and down her bare skin. He leaned down and smelled her neck.

“You smell so incredibly good,” he whispered into her hair, a low rumble emanating from deep within his chest.

Hermione glanced up at him. “Did you just growl?” she asked with a hint of surprise.

Draco stood up straight and knit his brows together. 

“No,” he answered. “Definitely not. Growling is aggressive. That was…” he cocked his head to the side, “...content.”

A sly smile spread across her features. “So. You purred,” she concluded.

Draco considered this for a moment. It sounded…right. He shrugged, smiled lazily, and pulled her back towards him, running his hands around her waist, and up her sides. Leaning down again to bury his face in her neck, where he admitted, “Yeah, I guess I purred.” 

Then he did it again. 

Hermione let out an irresistible little moan and wrapped her arms around his neck, allowing him to nestle into hers even more. He could feel and hear her heartbeat. It thumped quickly. Excitedly. He pulled her in closer, and she suddenly got hotter. Aroused.

He could smell it.

“Ahem,” the Fat Lady cleared her throat. “I’m right here,” she said, sounding scandalised. 

Draco gently extricated himself from Hermione’s arms, stood up straight, and rolled his eyes. He took her hand in his. 

“She’s right,” he said. “We’re supposed to be going down to the dungeons.”

“Too true,” Hermione replied somewhat breathlessly. She spared a quick glance at the Fat Lady, then let Draco lead her down into the depths of the castle.

-

Draco could sense Hermione’s hesitation as they stepped into the Slytherin common room. He tugged on her hand and smiled reassuringly. She returned his smile, slapped on a brave face, and followed him in looking around herself with wide eyes.

“You’ve never been here, have you?” 

She shook her head, and smiled sheepishly. “I thought it would be cramped with low ceilings. Claustrophobic because there wouldn’t be windows…but…it’s not like that at all.” 

She looked up at the high vaulted ceilings in wonder, twirled, and then weaved through the still partying Slytherins to the back wall – to the windows looking out into the Black Lake. She placed her hands on the glass, and allowed her eyes to adjust to the blue-ish glow emanating from the water, watching intently as shapes, features and creatures became visible. 

Draco came and stood next to her – watching her rather than the lake.

She was beautiful. With the glow of the lake reflecting off her dewy skin, she was almost ethereal. A vision. A dream. He watched as she narrowed her eyes, and leaned in closer – so close her forehead was almost touching the glass – then she looked at him in awe. “Is that a mermaid?” she asked. 

He tore his eyes away from her face and glanced out the window, nodded. “It’s a merman,” he confirmed.

Her eyes were as wide as saucers. “I’ve never seen one,” she breathed in astonishment. Completely enthralled by what she was seeing. 

Draco was enthralled too. 

He couldn’t give a fuck about the merpeople. He’d been seeing them out the dungeon windows for eight years now.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked. 

She nodded.

“What would you like?”

“Anything,” she replied. “So long as it’s wet.”

That…wasn’t helpful. He nodded, and left her by the window. Weaved his way through the crowd to fetch a bottle of firewhiskey and two glasses. If she wouldn’t tell him what she preferred, he’d get what he wanted.

When he returned, Theo was leaning against the window chatting animatedly with Hermione. As Draco approached, he caught the tail end of a story Theo was recounting, “...so there we were, standing in the manor’s cellar, completely drenched in some of Draco’s father’s most expensive wine, with his dad just fucking standing there…like he had no idea what to do with us…I thought he would blow his top…but he didn’t, which honestly was rather surprising…” Theo frowned as he wondered at Lucius Malfoy’s lack of response.

Draco grimaced and shook his head. “He did, Theo. Just as soon as you’d left. I couldn’t lie on my back for a week after he’d disciplined me.”

“Wait, what?” Hermione looked up at him. “He beat you?” she asked in shock.

Theo and Draco looked at each other, before looking back at her. “Hermione,” Draco started gently. “Physical punishment is pretty much something we all grew up with,” he said, waving in the general direction of his housemates.

Theo nodded. 

“Some pureblood disciplinary tradition, or something. For boys, at least,” he added, looking at Draco. “Do you know if Pansy, Millie or the Greengrasses ever got slapped around?”

Draco took a deep breath, and shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of…” He narrowed his eyes, poured and passed Hermione a glass. “Pansy’s discipline was more psychological torture, Millie was starved, and the Greengrasses…” he bit his lips. “I don’t know.” Raised his shoulders. “Now piss off, Theo, I didn’t get you a glass.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Theo replied knowingly. He slapped Draco on the back, told the two of them to “Have fun,” waggled his eyebrows, and walked away.

Draco swore under his breath, then poured himself a glass of firewhiskey and took a sip. Watched as Hermione apprehensively examined her own beverage. 

She looked up at him. “I don't typically drink firewhiskey…”

“You told me you’d take anything so long as it was wet. This is wet.”

She shifted her weight to one foot, considering. 

“Just taste it. If you don’t like it, I’ll drink it.”

“On one condition,” she said, running her hand up his arm. He immediately decided he’d do anything for her if she kept touching him.

“What’s that?”

“Dance with me.” She looked wistfully towards the middle of the common room where a crowd of Slytherins were dancing.

The music was…not to Draco’s taste.

He took another sip, considering her request. 

“Hermione,” he hesitated. “I know how to ballroom dance. This…” he gestured to his house mates gyrating to the music, “…not so much.”

She smiled seductively. “I can show you…” she hummed, and proceeded to run her hand up to his shoulder and down his chest.

“I’m going to need a few more firewhiskeys,” he told her, gulping the remaining of his glass, and pouring himself another.

She laughed. A beautiful tinkling sound. Then got serious, and looked determinedly at her own glass. Raised it to her nose and inhaled. “It smells…like…like…” she concentrated, trying to identify the aroma.

“Campfire,” Draco provided.

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “That’s exactly it!” She smelled again and nodded. “I don’t know if I want to drink campfire , Malfoy…”

He raised his eyebrows. “Admittedly, it’s not the best introduction to firewhiskey…you’d be better off with something sweeter. More…burnt caramel than burnt tires…”

“I expect you’re right,” she said and leaned into him, placing her hand flat on his chest. “Do you have any of that?”

Draco looked down at her hand, then back up to her face. “I’m sure I can find something.” 

He took her glass and downed it in one gulp, vanished it with a flick of his wrist, then took her hand and brought her through the crowd towards a makeshift bar. Went behind it, rummaged around, and came back with another bottle. He opened it and smelled, then held it out for Hermione. 

She leaned over it, and inhaled. Looked up and smiled. “Better,” she said.

He nodded, found her a glass and poured. “Try it,” he said, then leaned on the counter to watch.

She smelled it again, then held the glass tentatively up to her lips. 

He couldn’t take his eyes off them. 

Hermione’s lips were plump. Luscious. A perfect shade of dark pink. A perfect bow shape. He wanted desperately to feel them. Were they soft? Silky? Wet? Did they get chapped after she’d chewed on them? He wanted to know. He wanted to taste them. 

He watched as she tipped the glass back, and the amber firewhiskey touched her lips. She took a small sip. Made a face like she’d just swallowed gasoline, and gasped.

“No?” he asked with a smirk.

“ No ,” she coughed. “Definitely no…”

He leaned over the bar and produced a butterbeer, removed the cap and casually handed it to her. She looked at him with relief.

“Thank the gods,” she exclaimed and took a swig. Raised her eyebrows and looked at him. “I didn’t know they’d started making twist caps on butterbeer…”

“I don’t know what that is, Hermione.”

“Beer caps you can twist off,” she elaborated. “Muggles have had them for ages.”

Draco frowned. “It’s…not a twist cap,” he told her. “I just…pried it off.”

“Right,” she nodded, and leaned in conspiratorially, “With your zombie strength.”

“Something like that, yeah.” 

Draco couldn’t help wondering at how easily she talked about it. How easily she’d seemed to accept it. 

His creaturehood.

Almost as if it didn’t matter.

She was probably a little drunk.

Maybe a lot.

But still.

She looked wistfully at the dancers as she drank her beer. Draco started mentally preparing himself to dance. Gulped his firewhiskey and poured another. Downed that, slammed his glass on the bar, and took her hand.

“Okay, let’s do this before I change my mind,” he said. 

“You’re sure?” she asked. “I don’t want to force you…”

“I’m sure.”

He wasn’t.

She deposited her bottle on the counter, looked up at him and smiled. It didn’t matter how unsure he was, or even if he hated it. He’d do it over and over again to see her smile like that.

Hermione took the lead and dragged Draco out among the dancers, already swaying her hips and body to the beat of the incomprehensibly awful music that was playing. When she found a spot she liked, she turned around, took both his hands, leaned in and shouted over the din, “First off, Malfoy, you need to relax . Loosen up. Don’t be so stiff.”

He watched her move her feet. Watched how her hips thrust in time with the thump, thump, thumping music. Watched her run her hands up her body, through her hair and over her head.

He didn’t understand her instructions. Couldn’t comply. Everything about him was stiff. 

Everything .

She spun around and grabbed his hips. Tried to get him to move his body with hers. He closed his eyes in mortification. Awaiting the moment she felt his erection.

Hermione moved in closer. Running her hands up his arms, and onto his shoulders. Moved her leg between his and…there it was. His hard-on was pressing against her. She paused, but only for the briefest moment. Held on to his shoulders and pulled him down slightly so she could talk to him without shouting. “Malfoy, are you…”

Fuck it.

He took her by the waist, and pulled her right up against him. Spoke into her hair and confirmed, “Yes…” as he ran his hands around her waist and up her bare back. Relishing the feeling of her skin. 

Keeping one hand on her lower back, he glided the other up over her shoulder blades, and onto her neck. Into her hair at the back of her head, where he grabbed a handful of curls and tugged gently, pulling her head back to look at him. 

And there they stood, in the middle of a dance floor. Classmates moving all around them, still dancing. 

But they were still. 

Like there was no one else in the room. Holding on to each other, and just looking at each other. Looking into each other’s eyes. So close they were breathing each other’s air. A mixed aroma of firewhiskey and butterbeer.

Hermione’s eyes jumped back and forth as she looked at his impossibly blue ones…then she got up on her toes and leaned in. Attempting to close the last few inches between them. 

Between their lips. 

Draco moved back and dodged her. Looked at her with such desire and longing. He was so fucking desperate t o kiss her. To taste her lips. Her tongue. But…

She ran her hand up through the hair at the back of his head, and tugged down. Trying again. He evaded her lips once more, and kissed her cheekbone. Planted little kisses along it, to her ear, where he whispered, “I’m not sure what parts of me are contagious, Hermione…” and hugged her close. Squeezing her tightly. Desperate for her to understand.

He could hear her breathing fast. Feel her heart beating against his chest. 

She pushed back slightly, running her fingers through his hair and cupping his chin, running her thumb across his cheek. Her lips turned down slightly at the corners. Bit her bottom lip. Thinking.

He watched her intently, waiting for her to reach a conclusion.

“So you’re not sure what bodily fluids might pass on the zombie contagion…” she stated for clarity.

They were so close. He swallowed every word she said.

“Yes,” he choked out.

Hermione looked into his eyes. Another pregnant pause, before she continued, “Is there someone you can ask?”

Draco grimaced. “I can write to St. Mungo’s…though…” he sighed in resignation. “They’ve not been particularly helpful with any of this.”

She nodded and ran her thumb over his lips, sending waves of desire rippling throughout his body. 

“Okay,” she concluded. “No kissing, no exchange of fluids until…until we have some better idea…” Then she hugged him tightly, pressing the whole length of her body against him, and buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her hot breath warmed him in just that one spot.

When she pulled away, she held him by the back of his head once again, and leaned in. Rubbed her nose against his, and smiled. 

“We’ll just have to be patient,” she said. He nodded almost imperceptibly, then kissed along her jawline, towards her ear. When he reached her neck he paused, breathed in that exquisite scent of hers

So long as there was no exchange of fluids, she should be fine…right? He ran his hands up and down her sides, muttering under his breath. 

“What are you saying?” she asked into his neck, her voice heavy with lust. Her breath, hot and sticky against his skin.

“Healing charms,” he responded as he leaned back and ran his hand up her throat, and to her jawline, then into her hair as he leaned back in again and whispered, “You can’t have so much as a paper cut…” 

He paused and inhaled – his face buried in her neck once more – and tentatively stuck out his tongue and touched it to her skin.

It was like a bolt of lightning had run through his body. Lighting a fire within him. A burning throbbing desire to devour her. Taste her. Lick her.

Everywhere. 

She was shaking. Clinging to him. Pushing against his erection.

He licked down her neck. 

A small whimper escaped Hermione’s mouth, and she grasped the hair at the back of his head tightly.

Draco looked at her once more. At her luscious lips and her dewy skin. The smattering of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Her big brown eyes, flecked with green and gold. 

She was so fucking beautiful. So fucking incredible. So fucking sexy . 

Gods, he wanted her.

He ran his hands over her back, then along her arms. Grasped her small hands in his, and pulled her off the dance floor towards the far end of the common room. He found a dark corner lit only by the glow of the Black Lake, and pushed her back up against the window, leaned into her neck and inhaled. Ran his hands up her sides, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, pausing and rubbing them hard through the thin fabric of her handkerchief. Hermione moaned, and she reached up and circled her hands around his neck.

He ran his tongue over her jawline, and pushed his thigh between her legs. Pressing against her centre, against the arousal he could smell on her. Her hands grasped his hair, pulling tightly as he kissed and sucked at the sensitive skin below her ear.

“Oh Malfoy…” she sighed.

He stopped. 

Leaning his forehead against hers, he shook his head slightly and said, “Unh-unh. My name is Draco… ”

Hermione smiled at him and kissed his nose. “I don’t think I’ve ever said your given name without immediately following up with your last…you're either Malfoy or Draco Malfoy …”

“Not anymore,” he said, pushing his leg more insistently against her. “Now I’m just Draco. Say it.”

She gasped slightly, her pelvis pushing down against his thigh, her hands tangled in his hair. “Draco...” she whimpered.

He loved the sound of his name as it tumbled out of her mouth. As he swallowed the sound of it. 

He kissed her chin, then dragged his tongue along the length of her neck with abandon, kissing and sucking as he made his way to her collarbone and then to her shoulder. He ran his hands around her waist, removed his leg, and replaced it with a hand. Cupping her core. Rubbing back and forth.

Hermione moaned against his neck, and he growled in response. This was no contented purr. Not this time. It was a direct reflection of his desire to dominate and own her. To devour her. To inhale and gorge on her. 

Voraciously.

Draco backed up, breathing deeply. Trying to calm himself. 

Acutely aware of the party still going on behind them, he watched with hooded eyes as Hermione pushed off the window, pressing back into him. Ran her hands over his chest, to his neck and back into his hair. 

“Oh Draco,” she breathed, her forehead leaning against his chin. “Don’t stop.”

Well.

If she didn’t want him to stop, he was absolutely not going to stop. 

Fuck the party. 

He spun Hermione around so her back was to him. Pulled her hair aside and bent down to run his tongue along the top of her back and over her shoulder. Tasted salt, sweat, and musk. She shivered as he kissed his way back, and up her neck, then began sucking on her earlobe. Reached around to her front, ran his hands under her top and caressed her stomach. She leaned her head back against his shoulder. Breathing deeply. Wantonly.

Draco unfastened her jeans, paused for a moment and whispered into her ear, “Is this okay?”

“Oh gods, yes,” she moaned, and she turned her head, giving him better access to her neck. Draco kissed it and sucked on it, then looked over her shoulder as he slid his hand inside her knickers, over her mound of curls, and then ran his fingers through her folds to her slit.

“Salazar fucking Slytherin, you’re wet…” Draco breathed into her ear.

Hermione nodded mutely. Began panting as he tentatively inserted a finger into her silky wet cunt, relishing how warm and soft she was. He added another finger and began pumping in and out.

Holy fucking fuck.

Draco couldn’t quite believe it. He was fingering Hermione Granger. In the Slytherin common room. During a party. 

He slid his fingers out of her cunt, and caressed her folds as he made his way up to her clit. Touched it experimentally. Hermione whimpered. Reached her arms up and circled his neck. Pushed her head into his shoulder and her backside against his erection. “Tell me what you like,” he whispered into her ear as he ran his free hand up her side, grazed her breast, and then trailed it along her arm. “Do you like it soft…” he asked as he gently circled and rubbed her clit, “…or hard?” 

He increased the pressure and she cried out. “Hard, yes…nngghh…” she moaned into his shoulder and pushed her pelvis insistently against his hand. “Oh gods, Draco…” 

He rubbed her clit harder and her whole body started shaking. He slid his fingers back towards her slit, inserted two, and thrust them in and out rapidly, grinding the heel of his hand against her clit. Hermione’s hips started bucking in time with his hand, and she whinged and moaned every single time his fingers pushed into her. “Ngh, ngh, ngh…” 

Just the sound of her was almost too much to bear…add to that the smell of her cunt, and her bucking hips pushing against his cock with each and every thrust, and Draco was about to come in his pants.

He pushed harder and deeper into her. 

Rubbed harder against her clit. 

Felt her inner walls start clenching on his fingers. 

She held onto his arm with one hand, and braced herself against the window with the other, then rode his hand with abandon. Without the slightest concern for where they were, or who might see. She was swept away in the moment. Her hips bucked frantically, rubbing herself against Draco’s hand, and pushing his fingers as deep into her as they could go.

She was magnificent.

A light sheen of sweat covered her back. Her whole body emanating the most tantalising combination of musk, desire, and perspiration. Draco leaned down and ran his tongue over her shoulder and up her neck, suckling at the skin under her ear before taking her earlobe into his mouth again.

“Ngghhh…” Hermione moaned, and Draco felt her cunt clenching on his fingers. Spasming repeatedly as she bucked rapidly on his hand. He didn’t try to keep up, instead just let her rub against him as she climaxed. 

She eventually slowed her pace. Moved rhythmically over his hand, breathing deeply. Then stopped and leaned back against his chest. Panting. Catching her breath.

Draco caressed her arm with his free hand, and gently extricated the other from her knickers. Brought it up to smell. She watched him over her shoulder. 

Watched him inhale the heavenly aroma of her cunt, and then tentatively taste the desire that coated his fingers. He closed his eyes and savoured it. It was…exquisite. The most incredible taste he’d ever experienced. Tangy and musky. 

He licked his hand clean.

Hermione turned around and ran her hand over the bulge in his trousers. Rubbed back and forth. Encouraging it. Making him harder.

“Hermione…” he said in warning.

She looked up at him, a sly smile on her face. “Should be okay if you come in your pants, no? I won’t come into contact with any fluids.. .”

He considered this for a moment. Couldn’t form an argument to her logic and nodded. 

He was already so fucking close. So desperate to come. And the thought of coming while Hermione touched him? 

He almost blew his load right then and there.

She reached up with one hand and slid her fingers through his hair. Grabbed a fistful, and pulled his head down to hers. She kissed his chin, his cheekbone, his neck, while her other hand caressed his length. Slowly at first – attempting to wrap her hand around him as much as she could through the fabric of his trousers and pants. 

It felt…incredible. 

He was so fucking hard. His cock strained against his trousers. Pulsing with every stroke of Hermione’s hand.

As Draco’s breathing got deeper, more laboured, she sped up. Abandoned his hair, and took his hand. Placed it on her breast. He palmed it for a moment, feeling her nipple go hard under the fabric of her handkerchief. Reached down and slid his hand under her top, and up to her breast. Rubbed her exquisitely hard nipple with his thumb. 

He purred with pleasure. 

Wrapped his other arm around her lower back, pulled her against him, and buried his face in her hair. His whole body tensed. His purr became an outright growl. 

He choked out an expletive or two, and came. 

He hugged Hermione close. Nestled his face in the crook of her neck as she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly.

Had someone told him a year ago that he’d be satisfied to come in his pants while grinding against Hermione Granger, he’d never have believed them. 

But right here, right now? 

With the girl of his dreams in his arms?

He’d never been more satisfied.

Chapter Text

When Draco brought Hermione to his dorm she couldn’t help wondering why they hadn’t just come here to get each other off, rather than doing so at the back of the common room. 

She felt a dip in her stomach as she absorbed the implications of what she’d done. 

Public sex. 

With Draco Malfoy. 

In the middle of a party. 

Anyone could have seen them. 

Had anyone seen them?

She didn’t know. 

But if she was being honest with herself – truly honest – it had been arousing. Extremely arousing. 

She was always so cautious. So discreet. So careful. The risk of getting caught was not something Hermione had ever experienced. Wasn’t something she ever thought she’d like. 

It was new, and it had been exciting. It seemed appropriate, somehow, that it had been a Slytherin to pop that particular cherry. 

She looked at Draco. He was getting out a thick cable-knit jumper, his winter robes, his favourite jacket, a blanket…

“Draco, what are you doing?” Hermione finally asked, her voice tinged with confusion.

“There’s supposed to be a meteor shower tonight. I thought we could go check it out on the astronomy tower before I bring you back…” he paused and looked at her, his eyebrows raised in inquiry. “Unless you’re too tired? Would you prefer to go straight back to your dorm?”

“No…” Hermione shook her head. “I like the idea of watching the stars with you.”

He smiled at her response. It was beaming. She couldn’t understand how someone lacking so much colour could be so incredibly vibrant and beautiful.

He cocked his head and his eyebrows drew together. 

“What?” Hermione asked.

“You might want to run to the loo,” Draco mentioned, looking somewhat…guilty? “It’s just over there…” he trailed off, pointing to the far wall.

“Why?” 

Though, come to think of it, the loo might not be a bad idea, regardless.

He scratched his neck. “I may have…umm…” he swallowed, “…gotten a little carried away.” He grimaced and continued, “You’ve got a few love bites…”

Hermione’s hand went instinctively to her neck. She nodded and made her way to the toilet. 

Bloody hell.

There were more than a few . 

She shook her head and smiled, remembering how she got them. Remembering Draco’s mouth on her neck. 

His cool breath. His lips. His tongue. 

All of them cold and, well, refreshing in the heat of the party. She shivered slightly, feeling a little wave of excitement, then pulled out her wand and got to work healing them. 

She only left one for show.

When she came back out, Draco’s gaze hovered on her neck for a moment – noting the remaining love bite – but didn’t say anything. 

Instead he just handed her his jumper, took her hand, and led her out of the Slytherin dungeons.

-

Draco’s jumper was thick and bulky and comfortable. 

It smelled just like him. 

He spread the blanket on the flagstones of the astronomy tower where they both laid down, and draped his winter robes on top of them. He put his arm around her and she snuggled into his shoulder – deriving absolutely no warmth whatsoever from him until he cast a warming charm – and looked at the sky.

It was a clear night. They arrived when the meteor shower was at its height. Flashes of light were continuously streaking across the heavens. A plethora of stars forming their backdrop. 

Their view from the tower was perfect. It was beautiful. 

They lay in silence for quite some time, enjoying the show.

Hermione felt…butterflies. 

Again. 

They’d go away when she was busy or preoccupied, but as soon as her mind began to empty, they always returned. Throwing her into an almost constant state of nervous anticipation whenever she was near Draco.

He squeezed her slightly. “Are you nervous?” he asked into her hair.

It wasn’t fair that he knew so much of what was going on with her, sensed every little change in her body temperature. Heard her heartbeat. 

She shifted slightly, pulled her hair out of his face and looked up at him. Rather, at his chin.

“Not nervous, exactly. Anxious, maybe?”

He frowned. “Why?”

“I dunno…” She lifted a shoulder. “I’m always a little bit anxious with you.” He looked down at her with concern. 

“It’s not a bad thing,” she went on. “It’s just butterflies. You know, because all of this is so new.”

Draco bit his lips and nodded. Still frowning.

“What?” she asked.

He took a deep breath and ran his hand up her arm, shaking his head slightly. “It’s just…” he hesitated. “I can’t remember feeling nervous. Uncomfortable or awkward? Yes. But not nervous. Not at all. Not since I…woke up.”

“What do you feel with me now?” Hermione asked, getting up on her elbow to look at him properly.

“I feel…” his brows drew together. Like he had to think hard to know what he was feeling. “Content,” he finally said. “I always feel content when I’m near you.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He rubbed her back. A low rumble emanated from his chest.

A purr.

She loved the sound of it.

“It’s all I want these days – to be near you.” He shook his head. “Fuck, that sounds…”

“Nice,” Hermione interrupted.

He looked at her, still conflicted. “It’s weird, though…I don’t think I feel as much as I used to.” He sighed. “It’s like I can’t remember what it was like…I can only feel in the moment, if that makes sense. And then it all just…kind of goes away.”

Hermione considered his words. Compared them to his behaviour this year. Nodded. 

“It’s all more visceral…” she said thoughtfully. “Reactionary. More how you’d expect…” she hesitated, then grimaced slightly.

“Go on,” he encouraged. “Finish your thought.”

She pursed her lips. “How…you’d expect an animal to react and feel things.” 

It was like Hagrid had said. Despite the fact he looked human, Draco was more creature now. 

He sighed again, tangling his fingers in her hair, and contemplated the sky with a faraway look. Thoughtful. Like he wasn’t really seeing what was in front of him.

“You’re right,” he finally said, and shifted uncomfortably. “Everything I feel now is a direct reaction to what’s in front of me – to what I can see, hear, smell, taste or touch.” He sucked at his teeth, then looked at her. “I wonder how I’d feel if we were separated. If I couldn’t smell you anymore…”

The thought hit Hermione like a ton of bricks. 

Her eyes went wide, her heart rate spiked, and she felt a massive dip in the pit of her stomach. 

Panic.

How could he talk about losing or forgetting her already? They’d only just found each other.

Draco got up on one elbow and cupped her jaw, rubbing her cheek with his thumb. “Hermione,” he said gently. “I’m not implying I’d forget about you, or that I suddenly wouldn’t have feelings for you. On the contrary…I think I might go crazy if I couldn’t be near you.” 

He leaned forward and rubbed his cheek against hers. Kissed her hair. She nodded, and pulled him into a hug. Holding him tightly.

She thought she would go crazy, too. The fierceness of the emotion scared her. 

She held him even tighter.

-

When Hermione stepped through the portrait to the Gryffindor common room later that night, she expected it to be empty. 

It was not.

She stopped abruptly, surprised to find Harry sitting on the sofa with Ginny half asleep on his lap, Neville sprawled out on the rug in front of the fire, and Ron scowling from an armchair.

“Three o’clock,” Harry said looking at his watch, then at Hermione.

“Dad?!” Hermione exclaimed with mock incredulity and some degree of irritation.

“What?” Harry frowned.

“You’re behaving like my father, Harry. Waiting up for me. Checking on the time. What is this?” she asked, waving her hand at her house mates, more than a little irritated.

“We were worried about you,” Neville said sleepily from the floor. “None of us have ever gone down to the Slytherin dungeons.”

“And what did you expect to happen, exactly?” she asked indignantly. “It was a party.”

Neville shrugged. At least he had the decency to look slightly ashamed.

“We just wanted to make sure you got back up alright,” Harry stated. “That’s all. I didn’t like the idea of you wandering alone in the castle.”

“But I wasn’t alone,” Hermione said, crossing her arms. “And you knew that,” she continued, tilting her head to the Marauder’s Map folded next to Harry. “You also knew that Draco wouldn’t have left me to wander alone in the castle. He walked me up to Gryffindor Tower. Didn’t leave until I’d stepped through the portrait.”

“So it’s Draco now, is it?” Ron asked, his voice filled with venom.

Hermione looked at him. Narrowed her eyes. “Yes, Ronald. It’s just Draco now.”

“Maybe he’s a little more than just Draco now?” Ginny asked with a mischievous smile as she sat up and stretched her arms over her head. “That’s a nice love bite, Hermione.”

Hermione bit her lips, trying to contain the smile that threatened to make this conversation even more uncomfortable. Felt herself blushing. “Yes, Ginny…maybe a little more.”

Ginny stood up and grinned. “Well, I’m satisfied this night has come to a fantastic conclusion.” She walked over to Hermione and took her by the elbow. “But it’s late. Let’s get to bed, yeah?” She looked around the room pointedly.

Harry and Neville both nodded, said goodnight and started to move towards the boy’s dorm. Ron didn’t budge. Just sat there and looked like he was sucking on a lemon.

“Don’t mind him,” Ginny said as she and Hermione started toward the staircase. “He’s just feeling sorry for himself.” She squeezed Hermione’s arm. “This is a soft jumper,” she added. “Malfoy’s, I presume.”

Hermione nodded and absentmindedly lifted the collar to her nose to inhale its scent. 

His scent.

-

According to Hermione’s planning, the next week was all about getting started on brewing their end of year potions project. 

And it was.

Mostly.

On Tuesday, after finishing up their potions lesson, she and Draco headed to the auxiliary potions lab to get their cauldron and ingredients organised so they would be ready to start brewing after Thursday's class. They also started documenting their project, detailing the ingredients, where they came from, and how they had been stored and prepared. Hermione insisted this should be done in a chart rather than a simple list, which led to some debate – especially with regards to the amount of effort it would involve to lay it all out on parchment. 

Despite Draco’s objections, Hermione ultimately got her way. 

It turned out that there were advantages to canoodling with your potions partner.

And that was the rest of her week.

Or so it seemed.

Hermione was in an almost constant state of nervous anticipation. Never knowing for sure when Draco would track her down between classes or meals, or pull her into an alcove. 

Push her against the wall, bury his face in her neck, inhaling deeply.

Whisper healing charms with his cold breath, before kissing and licking her skin with his cool tongue.

She’d cling to him, whimpering desperately, while he continued his ministrations on her neck. Then he’d pull open her blouse and move his attention lower. Kiss the dip in between her breasts, licking and sucking at her skin. He’d slide his hand up her thigh under her skirt, caress her centre until he felt the damp seeping through, then move her knickers aside. Run his icy fingers through her folds before pushing them into her cunt, pumping in and out. She’d moan his name and her whole body would shake, as he rubbed her clit until she climaxed.

Then he’d lick his fingers clean, she’d straighten up her clothes, and they’d be off to their next class. Draco in a state of obvious arousal, and Hermione feeling more relaxed and confident than she’d ever felt in school before.

They were not particularly careful or discreet. 

Half the time, they forgot, or simply didn’t bother, to use silencing charms.

Draco definitely had something of an exhibitionist in him, and it seemed Hermione did too. 

At least, with him she did.

And this was how they got caught by two fifth-year Ravenclaw prefects one night after curfew, with Draco’s fingers buried deep inside her. 

He didn’t remove his hand. He just stopped pumping, shifted his body to ensure Hermione was sufficiently concealed, looked over his shoulder and hissed, “Would you kindly move the fuck along? We’re in the middle of something here…”

The prefects turned and fled. 

Apparently, being a Malfoy and a former Death Eater still held considerable weight, especially with the younger students.

Those prefects weren’t the only ones to discover that Hermione and Draco were together, though. 

Everyone did. 

It was hard not to. 

They didn’t try to hide it.

One might even say they flaunted it.

Hermione had never experienced anything like it. 

Never anything so exciting. So passionate. So desperate. 

And she was desperate. 

Desperate for all the things they had to avoid to prevent her from becoming infected. 

She was desperate to feel Draco’s lips on her own – always so soft and supple against her skin. Desperate to taste his mouth. To explore it with her tongue. Desperate to kiss him. To snog until their lips were raw. 

She wanted to…get into his pants. 

As incredible as it was being with someone so singularly focused on pleasuring her, she wanted to reciprocate somehow. 

She knew she couldn’t blow or fuck him – as desperate as she was to do both of those things. But she was desperate to at least give him a hand job. To see his cock, rather than just feel it pressed against her. 

Hold it in her hand. 

Give him as much pleasure as he gave her.

Draco was the one that always showed restraint. Always the one to pull away whenever Hermione tried to kiss him. Always the one to pull her hand away when she started unfastening his trousers. 

She knew that as desperate as he was to be with her, he was more terrified of infecting her.

So, he was overly cautious. 

Always prioritising her safety, no matter how lustful or aroused he was. No matter how hard his erection pushed against her. He told her he was content to just be with her. To pleasure her. To do and enjoy what he could, even if it wasn’t everything he – they  – wanted.

And, gods, did Hermione want him.

Despite the very physical nature of Draco’s attachment to her, she was surprised to discover how emotional their relationship became, and how quickly. She’d feared Draco’s creature instincts would make him less connected somehow. That it would be purely physical for him. That perhaps she was just a scent he craved, and nothing more. 

But it became increasingly clear this was not the case. 

Yes, he couldn’t get enough of her scent. 

Never tired of smelling or tasting her. 

But it was more than that. 

They talked. Really talked. 

He wanted to know everything about her. 

About her parents and growing up muggle. About her family vacations, and camping in the Forest of Dean. About what it was like to discover she was a witch, and to come to Hogwarts without any prior knowledge of the wizarding world. 

He didn’t just want to know the good things, either. He wanted to know how awful he’d made her feel in those early years. About being the first to call her ‘mudblood’, and how that had made her feel. 

He always looked so ashamed of himself when it came up. Would hug her extra tight, bury his face in her neck, and thank her for giving him a second chance. For letting him make it up to her. 

He wanted to know her dreams and aspirations. What she wanted to do after Hogwarts. Where she saw herself in five, ten or fifteen years.

She’d never had someone so completely interested in her. 

It was overwhelming.

But in a good way. He accepted her for who she was. Never made her feel silly or ashamed for her overeager approach to everything.  

He embraced her studious nature, and never teased or ridiculed her. He encouraged it, participated in it. Never moaned or complained that she had homework or assignments to do – even if she was doing them three weeks in advance. He was almost equally swotty, and equally serious about getting good grades. He never minded going to the library…so long as he could sit next to her with his thigh pressed against her own.

- 

It was about three weeks after the big Slytherin win, and they were in the library. Draco was finishing up his transfiguration homework, while Hermione worked on her advanced arithmancy essay due in two weeks. 

She flipped through a book and huffed, slamming it shut.

“What’s wrong?” Draco asked, running his hand up her thigh and squeezing slightly.

She shook her head. “Nothing. I’m looking for a reference and can’t find it. It doesn’t matter,” she sighed in frustration. “I give up. I’ve been looking for ages.”

“You ? Give up? Impossible,” he smirked.

Hermione grimaced. “It does happen. Not often. But…” 

“But?”

“I just don’t know where else to look.” She frowned, thinking. 

Frustrated. 

She got up, walked back to the stacks, and pulled out another three books. Dropping back into her chair, she started pouring through them.

“Hermione,” Draco started, watching her flip through the books with increasing exasperation. 

“Hermione,” he repeated.

“What?” she asked irritatedly.

“Maybe it is time to give up. Take a break. Come back at it another day with fresh eyes. I can help.”

“No…” she shook her head, and began flipping through the pages more violently. Erratically.  Becoming increasingly discouraged. 

“Hermione,” Draco said quietly as he took her hand in his and closed the abused book with the other, sliding it across the table and away from her. “Leave it.”

She scowled at him.

He ignored the face she made and tugged on her hand. “Stand up a sec,” he told her. 

She sighed deeply and got up, humouring him.

Draco pulled her closer, put his hands on her waist, and guided her to his lap so she was straddling him. “Come here,” he said, his voice low. He pulled her into a sitting position, running his hands up and down her thighs. Leaned in, pushed her hair to the side and sniffed her neck. His cold breath tickled her just below the ear.

Hermione hummed contentedly – enjoying the attention despite her bad mood – and put her hands on his shoulders.

“You need a distraction,” he told her. 

She really did.

She was in a foul mood.

Draco murmured healing incantations as he nestled in close. He left a trail of kisses along her jawline to her chin, and then licked his way back to her ear and down her neck. 

“You taste so bloody good,” he whispered. 

He undid her tie, slid it off and dropped it on the table, unbuttoned the first few buttons of her shirt, and pulled the collar out of the way so he could kiss where her neck and shoulder met. He sucked on her collarbone – Godric Gryffindor, it felt good – and pulled her hips down to meet his growing erection.

“Draco…” Hermione moaned, throwing her head back to provide better access to her throat. Felt him sucking on her skin, and marking her. “We shouldn’t. We’re in the library…”

“I know where we are, Hermione,” he whispered, pulling her hips down again. 

Hermione’s heartbeat increased, matching the throbbing between her legs. Her anticipation was palpable. 

“But someone could see us,” she said breathlessly, starting to sway her hips anyway. Unable to resist. Slowly, rhythmically, pushing her clit against Draco’s cock through their clothes.

It felt so incredibly good.

He felt good.

Like he was made just for her. 

Like he was made for her to ride.

Fuck, she wanted to kiss him.

Hermione leaned in – aiming for Draco’s mouth – but he turned his head. 

She kissed his cheekbone. 

Placed her hands on either side of his face and looked meaningfully into his vibrant blue eyes. 

Kissed his nose, his chin, his forehead and the side of his face. 

Started moving her hips faster. Breathing deeper. 

She was desperate. She was always so desperate with him. Always wanting.

Draco held onto her hips, pulling her hard against him, releasing her, then pulling down again. 

His breathing laboured. His hips moved to match her own. His cock grinding against her pelvis.

“Fuck, Hermione…” he choked out. 

He squeezed her hips tightly as his arms and legs began to tense. He stopped pulling and pushing and buried his face in the crook of her neck, growling. “Nngghh…” he groaned, and she felt him come in his pants. 

Draco kissed her neck lazily, then took a deep breath and looked at her. Ran his hand up under her skirt. 

Hermione shifted back on his lap, the coolness of his touch making her shiver as his hand glided along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and to her groin. He traced along the elastic of her knickers, pulled them aside, then trailed his fingers through the folds of her cunt making his way to her slit. 

“Fuck me,” he moaned into her hair, when he felt the desire that had accumulated for him. 

“I love how wet you get.” 

She gasped as he inserted two cold fingers, burying them as deep as they would go, sending a delightful little thrill to her very core. He pumped them in and out, pushing the heel of his hand against her clit, and grinding it against her. 

Hermione moaned, as her hips swayed in time with Draco’s hand.

She rode him until she was panting. 

Sweating. 

Shaking with the intensity. 

Her insides clenching against his fingers. 

She gasped and held tightly onto his neck, her fingers twisted in his hair at the back of his head. Her hips bucked vigorously as she chased after her climax, pushing herself harder against his hand. The chill of his touch heightening the sensation of his fingers rubbing against her walls. 

“Oh, oh, oh…gods, Draco, yes …” she whimpered. Her knees squeezed his sides as she desperately tried to be quiet. She clutched and hugged him tightly as her whole body shook with the strength of her orgasm. Her breaths coming out in short little gasps into the crook of his neck.

When it was done, she relaxed — or slumped — on top of Draco. His hand was still up her skirt, and he continued to caress her folds, running his fingers between her outer and inner lips, and rubbing the oversensitive bundle of nerves on her clit, teasing little aftershocks out of her. She buried her face in his neck again, her hips spasming periodically, and tried to catch her breath.

There was a large crash. 

The sound of multiple large books – heavy tomes – falling to the floor.

They both looked up.

Hermione, with surprise. Draco…not entirely so.

They weren’t alone.

Ron had been watching them.

“Get a good look, Weasel?” Draco sneered.

Hermione became acutely aware that Draco’s hand was still in her knickers. His long slender fingers paused at the opening of her slit.

She felt a flutter in her gut.

A rush of excitement.

Oh gods.

Ron was standing there staring at them, and all she wanted was for Draco to push his fingers back inside her. She felt herself throbbing again. Felt her arousal pool around his fingers. 

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck .

She was an exhibitionist. 

Draco must have heard the increase in Hermione’s heartbeat — felt her renewed desire — because he responded by slowly insinuating two fingers back inside her.

Slow and cold, his fingers explored the depths of her core.

“Ronald,” she said shakily. “Please leave.”

“Hermione,” Ron exclaimed. “What the bloody hell has gotten into you?”

“Me,” Draco answered succinctly. 

He slowly pulled his fingers out of Hermione’s cunt, and slid them through her swollen folds. Spreading her arousal. Rubbing gentle little circles around her clit. Her breath shuddered. Just slightly. “Now if you don’t mind,” Draco drawled. “I’m getting my girl off.”

“Your girl?” Ron seethed.

“Yes. My girl,” Draco replied with conviction. Possessiveness. “She’s mine now, Weasel.” 

At the periphery of her mind, Hermione knew she should be appalled at this antiquated and, quite frankly, barbaric display of ownership. Over her . 

She was a feminist, for Godric’s sake, and she ought to put an end to this immediately. 

But she didn’t. 

Because Draco was running his fingers back and forth through her folds, caressing them softly. Tracing little circles around her clit, and then reinserting them into her cunt, pushing as far in as he could. 

All she could do was gasp, grab a fistful of Draco’s shirt and clench her teeth. 

“Fuck off,” Draco concluded, effectively dismissing Ron, and turned his attention back to Hermione. Leaned into her neck, and kissed it.

Ron looked beseechingly at Hermione. 

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Ron…”

“Don’t you fucking apologise to him,” Draco hissed and he started pumping his hand again, his fingers rubbing the inner walls of her cunt and the heel of it providing the most delicious friction against her clit. 

Hermione moaned audibly. 

Her hips started to buck. 

She looked at Ron’s stricken and horrified face. “Go,” she whispered. “Please…” she panted. 

She could feel the arousal pooling around Draco’s fingers. Hear it squelching against them as they moved in and out of her. Didn’t think she could hold back much longer. “Please,” she said again more forcefully.

It wasn’t entirely clear who she was talking to.

Ron looked positively disgusted. 

Resigned. 

He turned around and left. 

As his figure disappeared among the stacks, a small cry of pleasure broke from Hermione’s lips and she buried her face in Draco’s neck, thrusting herself violently against his hand, pushing his fingers ever deeper inside of her.

Draco pulled her hair aside, and licked the sweat off her neck, breathing huskily into her ear, “You liked that, didn’t you?” 

Hermione nodded slightly and whimpered in response. Her legs quivering and her cunt clenching repeatedly on Draco’s fingers. She gasped and then groaned, coming a second time, the intensity of it radiating throughout her body. 

She pulled her head out of the crook of Draco’s neck, looked into his eyes with longing, then leaned forward, her lips desperate for his. 

Desperate to taste him.

To share that intimacy with him.

He turned his head at the last moment and she crashed into his face, her lips catching just the side of his mouth. She grabbed the hair at the back of his head and tried again, attempting to force his lips onto hers.

“Hermione,” Draco pleaded. One hand now on her waist, the other tangling itself in her hair. Pulling her back. Looking her in the eye. “We can’t…” he said, his own desperation evident. His voice choked. His breathing laboured.

She shimmied back up his lap, and wrapped her arms around his neck…shook her head, her curls swaying. Licked her lips. 

She watched Draco do the same with that incredibly pink tongue. She leaned her forehead against his, breathing into his mouth, and feeling utterly defeated.

“I know it sounds hopelessly dramatic,” she said as she tilted her head and rubbed her nose against his, “…but I want to kiss you so badly.” She gently caressed the back of his neck with her thumbs, looking sad and dejected.

Draco pulled her close and hugged her tightly.

“I know,” he said. “Me too.”

-

The potion was coming along swimmingly. 

Every new ingredient added, or change in temperature, produced exactly the results described in the instructions – it bubbled and boiled, simmered, changed colour, viscosity, and odour. 

With his heightened sense of smell, Draco took it upon himself to add more precision to the smells described in the recipe, claiming they were too vague. Hermione thought he was setting every single normal human up for failure – that they’d be unable to pick up the nuances he could. It was with some degree of surprise – and delight – that she discovered her potions partner had a way with words that actually made it attainable, even for her regular nose. Instead of merely describing a smell as sweet with a slight bitterness, Draco gave examples. Sweet like burnt caramel or candy floss. Bitter like apple cider vinegar or brussel sprouts. Pungent like rotten eggs or ammonia. 

He had a knack for taking complex concepts, breaking them down, and simplifying them to just their essentials. Making them easy to understand. 

Much to Hermione’s chagrin, this also included most everything she wrote for their project. He was constantly making suggestions on how she might change this or that. Break a sentence or paragraph up. 

Effectively, rewriting it.

She eventually cracked. 

“Draco,” she exclaimed. “I am perfectly capable of writing an introduction, going over my materials and methodology, presenting the results and discussing them. I’m an intelligent woman. I’m good at this.”

He looked up from their potion, surprised.

“I never said you weren’t good.” He rubbed his hand over his face – still so pale despite the heat coming off the cauldron. “The problem is you’re too good.”

Hermione crossed her arms and pursed her lips, shifted her weight to one hip and leaned on the table, waiting for him to dig himself out of this hole.

“Hermione, you’re planning to work in the Ministry, right?”

That…wasn’t where she thought he was going. 

“What does that have to do with our potions project?” she asked with some degree of irritation.

“Everything,” he replied, with a slight smirk, and walked over to her. Placed his hands on her hips, looking at her sincerely. “You write like an academic, Hermione. Way over the head of the average person. You need your ideas to be accessible. You need to tone it down. Practice writing for us lowly mortals.”

“I’d hardly call you a mortal,” she said, jabbing him in the chest with her finger.

“Point taken,” he smiled. “But the fact remains that despite your obvious understanding of the material, you use too much jargon and way too many run-on sentences…” Hermione went to interrupt but he kept going, “... Grammatically correct run-on sentences, but run-on sentences all the same.” He sighed. “I’m not insulting your intelligence. You’re one of the smartest people I know. I just think you try too hard.”

“So what are you saying?” she asked, a strange feeling coming over her. 

She was used to people complimenting her writing and intelligence. Gushing over her ability to form a sound argument, present her evidence, and come to a logical conclusion. 

She wasn’t accustomed to someone critiquing her work. Telling her she could do better. 

She was already the best. Her grades attested to it.

But there was a slight niggling feeling deep, deep down where she didn’t want to examine it.

Fuck.

Maybe he was right? 

She was always so caught up in proving – without a shadow of a doubt – that she was smart, worthy, and that she belonged. 

She’d never even considered the possibility that she didn’t have to. 

That she had nothing to prove. 

She looked at Draco as he spoke. Not listening to his words anymore or absorbing them at all. He’d already convinced her. 

She was standing there with someone who was just as smart as she was, but a far better communicator. 

She wasn’t used to people being better at something than her. 

She’d thought it would make her jealous. But it didn’t. In fact, she found it rather attractive. 

Very attractive. 

Hermione bit her lips, thinking.

She had never been more attracted to another person her entire life. Had never wanted someone so much. Though the butterflies had subsided over the last little while, she still felt a physical something between them. Something she missed desperately when Draco wasn’t near. She didn’t understand it. Wondered if his need to be near her had somehow transferred – infected her – with the same need to be near him. She felt as if her whole world was suddenly wrapped up in him. 

Was this love?

Could she be in love with Draco?

Hermione stared at him. Frowning. Thinking. Feeling .

“Hermione? Are you even listening to me?” Draco asked, his brows pulling together, frowning right back at her.

She shook her head ever so slightly. “No…no, I’m…I’m not.” 

“The fuck, Hermione?” he said in irritation. “You’re not angry with me, are you? It’s just a little constructive—”

He didn’t finish his sentence.

Hermione made a split second decision. 

She rushed forward and grabbed a fistful of Draco’s shirt in one hand, the back of his neck with her other, and pulled him down to her level. Before he could react, she stood up on her toes and kissed him. 

His lips were even softer against her own than she’d anticipated. She ran her tongue over them, relishing the feeling. 

“What are you doing?” he asked in alarm, grabbing her by the arms and trying to back away. 

But it was too late. 

Hermione held firm and kissed him again. 

Harder. More forcefully.

“Hermione…” he pleaded into her mouth. 

She let go of his shirt and moved her hand up behind his neck, leaning completely against him. 

With both arms now around him, she ran her tongue along his lips tentatively. 

She backed away ever so slightly, and looked at him. Breathless. 

Sharing the same air, she whispered, “It’s too late now, Draco…”

He ran his hands up and down her arms. Shook his head and sighed, “Fuck, Hermione…” 

Hermione watched him intently, trying to decipher what was going on in his head. Her gaze bounced back and forth between his eyes. 

She was nervous. Worried. Her heart was beating so hard she could hear it thundering in her chest. She felt her cheeks get hot. The panic spread across her neck and chest, leaving it red and splotchy.

What had she done?

He reached up and cupped her face in his hands, a slight frown pulling at his brows and his mouth. He seemed to be having some internal debate. He shook his head slightly. Licked, then bit, his lower lip.

“Fuck it,” he finally said, and leaned into her, his lips crashing against her own. 

Despite how soft Draco’s lips were, the kiss was hard. Fevered. Passionate. Filled with all the want and longing of the last few months. She could feel the stubble on his chin scratching at her. Chafing. Like sandpaper.

She loved it.

He licked along her bottom lip and Hermione opened her mouth to let his tongue in. To meet it with her own. 

His tongue was cool. Refreshing. 

She whimpered, and increased the fervour of her kiss. Stumbled slightly. Lifted her leg and ran it over Draco’s, as if attempting to climb him. To get off her bloody toes. 

He reached down and grabbed behind her thighs, broke away from their kiss just for a moment to say, “Jump.” She hopped up and he caught her, lifted her easily and sat her down on the work table, making her more or less level with him. 

She wrapped her arms and legs around him and pulled him close, her mouth never leaving his, catching breaths between kisses. Draco’s hands ran up and down her sides. He wrapped one around her back and the other snaked up into her hair. With his hand tangled in her curls, he pulled back just for a moment to breathe, and looked at her with frustration. “Of all the stupid fucking things to do,” he muttered then leaned back in to kiss her hard on the mouth, then left a trail of kisses along her jawline to her neck. “What were you thinking?” he whispered into her ear, licking and sucking just below it.

Hermione moaned in pleasure, her neck thrown back to provide better access. “Honestly?” she asked. 

“Mmmhmm…” Draco purred against her skin.

“I was thinking that, of all the ways to transmit a communicable disease, saliva is generally considered among the lowest risks…”

He paused at the base of her neck, his breath cool against her. “That’s what you were thinking?”

She smirked. “Well, that and how desperate I was to finally kiss you…” He licked up her throat to her chin and nipped it playfully. “Though one might argue I wasn’t really thinking at all…”

“No shit,” Draco interrupted, kissing her on the mouth before she could respond. Then he stopped and looked at her seriously. “There’s a reason Gryffindor’s have a reputation for being reckless…”

Hermione shrugged. “I decided it was worth the risk.” She ran her hand over his cheek, leaned in and kissed him again. “And I stand by that decision,” she whispered into his mouth. His breath cool on her tongue. On her lips. She pulled him into a hug. “What do we have to watch for?” she asked over his shoulder.

He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed back. 

“Fever,” he replied. 

She nuzzled her face in his neck. “Well, lucky for me I have my human thermometer right here…”

Draco pulled away and looked her in the face. “Not funny,” he sighed. “I think you should spend the night with me…so I can keep an eye on you…” he paused, and got a slightly mischievous look on his face, “…among other things.”

“What other things?” she prodded, opening her eyes wide and biting her lip to stop herself from grinning.

He sucked on his teeth, still looking somewhat annoyed. Took a deep breath, then backed away from her, turned and started heading to the door. “I plan to go down on you,” he said over his shoulder. He stopped, his hand on the knob, “…I’m going to make you come so fucking hard you won’t be able to walk afterwards.” He cocked his head. “That is, of course, if you’re not dying and transforming into a zombie, you impulsive bint.” 

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Are you coming?”

Hermione jumped off the table, checked the temperature of their cauldron, and joined him. 

“Not yet, I’m not,” she said cheekily.

-

Hermione got it into her head they could spend the night in the Room of Requirement and entirely avoid the question of dormitories. Surely it, like the rest of the castle, had been repaired after the battle? And why couldn’t it manifest itself into a bedroom? The perfect bedroom?

Draco was less sure, and reminded her that none of his experiences in the room had been particularly positive. What he left unsaid, of course, was that Crabbe had died in it.

He was nevertheless convinced to have a look. 

Or at the very least to humour her. 

Hermione was willing to take whatever she could get if it meant she could escape sleeping in the dungeons. It wasn’t that she was embarrassed of anyone knowing she’d slept over with Draco…she’d already had sex with him repeatedly all throughout the school with seemingly little regard to what other people thought. It was just…she didn’t particularly love the idea of sleeping over in Slytherin.

When they arrived in the seventh floor corridor, Draco was looking decidedly green, which was saying something for someone already so colourless. He stood back and allowed Hermione to walk past where the door should be, thinking of her ideal bedroom. 

She walked by once. Twice. Three times. 

Draco leaned on the wall beside the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, with his arms crossed over his chest and his legs crossed at his ankles, watching her sceptically.

When the door appeared, she looked over her shoulder. “Let’s check it out,” she grinned and opened it.

The Room of Requirement didn’t disappoint.

The bedroom it had conjured was perfect. Brilliant, really. A hearth with a crackling fire on one end, and a large canopy bed on the other. Lots of pillows. Ample blankets of varying textures and weights. The colours, all creams and beiges – perfectly neutral and house agnostic. The flagstone floor was covered with plush rugs, and looked positively inviting. Hermione wanted to throw off her shoes and socks, and just sink into the thick pile. 

She turned and looked at Draco, still leaning against the wall across the hall. “Draco! You need to come see this…” she said with excitement, and entered the room. Spun around, and flopped onto the bed.

Draco still looked somewhat green, but came to join her. Stopped in the doorway, his nostrils flaring and his jaw clenching.

“Come in…” Hermione said, patting the space next to her on the bed.

Desperate for him to join her.

Desperate for all the things they might do on it.

He shook his head slightly. Bit his lips, his eyebrows drawn together. He looked pained. “I can’t go in there,” he just barely managed to choke out. He backed away from the door, and returned to the hallway, seemingly gasping for breath. Leaning over, his hands on his knees.

Hermione frowned. Jumped off the bed and came to join him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “It’s perfect…”

Draco stayed bent over. He looked…well, he looked like he might be sick. He shook his head. “I can smell it,” he said unhelpfully.

“Smell what?” Hermione asked. 

She walked back to the doorway and leaned into the room. Inhaled deeply. Looked back at Draco. “I can’t smell anything,” she told him. “Just the fire in the hearth.”

Draco dry wretched. “The fire, Hermione…I can smell it.” 

She didn’t understand. 

“I know…” she said slowly. “So can I…”

“No.” He shook his head, and ran his hand over his face. Moved down the hallway, putting even more distance between himself and the open door. “I can smell the fiendfyre ,” he hissed. “The smell of scorched wood, and stone…” he swallowed with difficulty, “...of burnt flesh. I can smell him,” he elaborated with obvious discomfort. Looking at the door as if in pain.

Hermione’s eyes went wide.   

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He could smell Crabbe.

She slammed the door shut, and rushed to his side. “I’m sorry!” she exclaimed, and took his hand. Started pulling him further down the corridor. “I didn’t think, I didn’t know…” 

He didn’t answer. Just kept his jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck straining.

“Let’s get you outside,” Hermione suggested. “Into some fresh air.” 

She led him down the corridor and to the stairs. He followed almost limply. Like he had no real capacity to function without her guiding him. 

It seemed to take forever. 

The interminable staircases, and long corridors. She cursed the size of the castle, as she listened to Draco take in ragged breaths.

Like the scent of burning flesh was still fresh for him. Like it permeated the whole school. 

She took him by the elbow and hurried their pace. As they got to the ground floor, she held on to him tightly and weaved them through the crowd of students heading to dinner in the Great Hall. 

Finally, they arrived at the large double doors of the main entrance. Hermione pushed them both open, allowing a large gust of cold air to blow into the castle. Yelps and cries of protest emanated from the students taken by surprise by the sudden drop in temperature.

Hermione pulled Draco out onto the stoop and watched as he bent over and rested his hands on his knees, entirely focused on breathing. In and out. Desperate to flush out his nostrils. To replace the scent of burning flesh.

She felt awful. 

He’d expressed his misgivings about the room, and yet she’d insisted. Prioritising her level of comfort over his.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated, wringing her hands.

He stood up straight, his eyes closed. Cradled his head in his hands. Shook his head slightly. Took a few more deep breaths – his whole upper body inflating with each one – before he opened his eyes and looked at her. “It’s okay,” he said. “You couldn’t have known.”

“But I wouldn’t back down about it…”

Draco reached for her, and pulled her into his arms. Buried his face in her hair, and breathed her in. Nuzzled her neck, taking deep breaths. Of her. She wrapped her arms around his lower back and shivered. His hands ran up her sides as he whispered a warming charm, sending a flood of warmth through her body. 

“You should get back inside,” he said reluctantly into her ear.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I can stay.”

“You’ll miss dinner…” he pulled away from her and stood up straight. Took another deep breath. 

“Is it any better?”

He nodded, but his eye twitched slightly.

“You can still smell it, though…” she concluded.

“I can,” he admitted. He cupped her jaw, and leaned in to kiss her on the lips. Leaned his forehead against hers. “Why don’t you go eat…” he hesitated. “I’m going to go for a run in the forest…find something else to occupy my olfactory senses.”

“You’re sure?”

She still felt so fucking awful.

“I’m sure. There’s always lots of interesting smells in the forest…lots to distract me…”

She nodded. Took his hand.

“Did you still want to spend the night together? Keep an eye on me? My temperature?”

“Absolutely…” he replied. Cocked his head and grinned. “I guess it goes without saying you’ll be spending the night in the dungeons…”

Hermione nodded in resignation.

“I’ll come fetch you from Gryffindor Tower later tonight…bring…” he waved his hand in her general direction, “...whatever you need, I guess…”

“I will.” She leaned in and kissed him again. Gingerly at first, but with increasing desperation. As if she wanted him to swallow her apology. “Draco I…” she looked up at him breathlessly. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to continue. “I…” she frowned slightly. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologising,” he admonished her. Then gave her one last quick peck on the cheek, and made his way down the school’s front steps. 

Hermione watched as Draco walked across the grounds in just his shirt, and shivered. The warming charm was fading. She turned toward the door and opened it. 

She looked over her shoulder for one last glimpse, but he was already gone. 

Chapter Text

Walking into the Slytherin common room on a regular Thursday night was an entirely different experience than it had been after the quidditch win. 

For starters, it was well-lit. 

Everyone – or mostly everyone – appeared sober, and there was no makeshift dance floor or bar. 

Apart from the blue glow from the Black Lake, the House colours, and the fact the couches were leather rather than fabric – which honestly seemed much easier to keep clean – it was very much the same as the Gryffindor common room. 

Also different were the number of smiles and ‘hellos’ Hermione received. 

She had noticed this outside the Slytherin common room as well – throughout the castle, in fact. Slytherin’s acknowledging her. Nodding their heads, or saying ‘hi .’  

It was…a little unsettling if she was being honest. 

But at the same time, she understood why. 

Draco was, despite his family’s sullied name, a fixture among the old pureblood families. He was one of them, no matter what. Add to that the fact he was Slytherin’s star quidditch player, and it didn’t matter if or why he’d come back for his eighth year slightly different. Odd. Twitchy.

And so she, being his girlfriend, was automatically given a certain degree of respect as well.

It was also entirely possible they’d seen her and Draco getting each other off at the party, shattering whatever preconceived notions they might have had about the ‘Golden Girl.’

Replacing those notions with…something else.

All this might have accounted for why the smiles were a little different that night. Slightly cheekier.

The fact that it was almost curfew, along with her overstuffed satchel, made it blatantly obvious Hermione meant to spend the night.

She’d expected to be embarrassed…but she wasn’t. 

No. She’d gotten that out of the way in her own common room. 

Although Ginny had been positively delighted with the turn of events – and had loaned her a pair of pyjamas that weren’t fuzzy or covered in frolicking wildlife – Harry had given her an outright disappointed look, again seeming more dad than friend. 

Hermione was quick to point out Ginny spent almost every night in the boy’s dormitory, and that the only difference here was Draco belonged to a different house.

Harry grudgingly accepted the comparison, but still found it hard to swallow, mostly because she was spending the night with the snakes . 

Though she’d never admit to it, she’d had some of the same reservations. They just couldn’t be helped.

And so, she smiled back at the Slytherins and followed Draco to the boys’ seventh and eighth year dorm. Dropping her satchel on Draco’s bed, she stood on the opposite side of it and looked at him.

She smiled shyly. 

Somehow, despite the fact Draco’s hands had explored every single inch of her body, she felt nervous about sleeping over. Sharing a bed. Feeling his cool skin against her whole body. Her naked body. 

Having him lick her. Go down on her. 

Having his cold mouth on her cunt.

She felt a slight frisson. A little flutter of anticipation in her core.

“So,” she started, looking around herself. Unsure what to do. “How does this normally work?”

Draco frowned. “I don’t know,” he admitted, as he scratched the back of his neck. “You’re the first person I’ve invited back to the dorm.”

Hermione shifted her weight to one foot, and looked at him. Surprised. “Really?” she asked somewhat sceptically.

“Really,” he replied.

“ Really ?” Theo’s voice piped in as he entered the dorm with a wide grin, coming to stand at the foot of the bed, between the two of them, looking from one to the other.

Draco grimaced. Looked at his friend in exasperation. “Fuck, Theo… again? ”

Theo’s smile got even wider. He nodded and confirmed, “Yeah, again.” He raised his eyebrows and continued, “He’s so fucking arrogant, I couldn’t help myself. Couldn’t help putting him in his place…which is, of course…”

“—Yeah, I know—” Draco interrupted, sounding altogether like he didn’t want to be having this conversation.

“...under me,” Theo finished.

Hermione frowned. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “ Who are you talking about?”

“Otto Selwyn,” Theo said with glee.

“That awful keeper on the Slytherin quidditch team?” Hermione asked.

“That’s the one,” Theo replied enthusiastically.

“And the two of you are…”

“Fucking. Yes,” Theo confirmed.

Hermione bit her lip. Looked at Draco, then back to Theo. “But didn’t I see you with a Ravenclaw not two days ago?” She frowned, thinking. “Adele? Adeline? Something like that?”

“Adelia,” he corrected with a nod. “You did see us together…” He cocked his head and smiled wolfishly. “I’m fucking her too.”

Hermione looked at Draco, feeling slightly helpless. He just shook his head and sighed. “You don’t want to know. I don’t want to know.” He looked at Theo and asked, “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

Theo smirked. “And miss all this nervous tension? No. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. I wouldn’t miss this for the world…” he rubbed his hands together, looking at Hermione, “So…what’s changed? Why are you suddenly sleeping over?”

Hermione bit her lip and blushed. 

“I kissed him,” she admitted.

Theo’s eyes went wide and he looked at Draco. “But I thought you didn’t know…”

“I don’t ,” Draco interrupted. “Which is why Hermione’s here…so I can be with her if she develops a fever. If something… more happens.”

“Fuck,” Theo said looking at Hermione with what she interpreted to be respect. “Fucking Gryffindor courage,” he concluded, shaking his head.

Hermione shrugged. “It was worth it,” she replied.

Draco shook his head. “You say that now… ”

“I do,” she interrupted him, sticking her chin up defiantly. “Now,” she said, grabbing her satchel off the bed. “Where can I change?”

“In the loo,” Draco pointed with his chin towards the back of the dorm room.

Hermione nodded and made her way there, listening to Draco tell Theo how desperately he needed to take a shower. Or leave the room. Or the castle. Hermione couldn’t help smiling. She couldn’t possibly imagine the onslaught of odours he had to put up with every day.

She closed the door, locked it, and looked at herself in the mirror. 

She was really going to do this. 

Sleep over in the Slytherin dungeons. 

She pulled an elastic band out of her satchel, then pulled her hair up. She splashed water on her face before going through the motions of brushing and flossing. She used the toilet, and then changed into her borrowed pyjamas. They were a light pink satin set. Short sleeves with a button up top, and shorts. She loosed her hair and fluffed it up. Pinched her cheeks, took a deep breath, and exited.

Draco was alone, having changed while Hermione was in the toilet. He wore a black t-shirt with blue and green plaid pyjama bottoms. He looked up and his eyes dilated when he saw her. The blue of his irises almost completely disappeared. His jaw clenched. His nostrils flared.

“Whose clothes are you wearing?”

Hermione was slightly taken aback. “What do you mean?” she asked.

He walked over to her, ran his hand up her bare arm, then leaned over and sniffed. Made a face. 

“They don’t smell like you,” he stated. Thinking. “They smell like…” his eyes narrowed, “...the she-weasel.” 

Grimaced.

“Does it really make that much of a difference?” 

“It does,” he replied, giving her a funny look. “Why are you wearing someone else’s pyjamas?”

Hermione tugged on the hem of said pyjamas. Fidgeted with the last button. “Because I wanted to wear something nice,” she admitted. “My only clean pair were fuzzy and covered with Scottish terriers wearing raincoats.” She looked up at him, trying to decipher the face he was making.

“Next time, wear the Scottish terriers,” he said with a sigh. “I like the way you smell…not…” he made another face. 

Like he was smelling something distasteful.

“Do you want me to take them off?”

“Yes,” he answered immediately.

Hermione sucked her cheeks in, biting them. Looked around the room feeling somewhat lost. She couldn’t believe this was happening. “Is it really that bad?” she finally asked.

“You don’t smell like you,” he told her. “I can give you a t-shirt to wear.”

“Then I’ll smell like you ,” she replied cheekily. 

He tilted his head. Took her hand and pulled her closer. “Or…” he began unbuttoning her pyjama top from the bottom button, “...you can wear nothing at all,” he suggested. His voice, low. A slight rumble beneath it.

Hermione looked up at his face as he continued working the buttons, his slender fingers slowly creeping up.

Her heartbeat accelerated. She grew hot. Couldn’t wait to feel his cool hands on her skin. On her breasts.

Draco got the last button undone and opened her nightshirt, pushing it back over her shoulders and down her arms.

A low purr emanated from his chest. 

He threw her borrowed top on the floor, then ran his hands up and down her back, their cold touch causing her to break out in goose pimples. He muttered a warming charm before bringing them round to her front. Cupped her breasts and kneaded them. Ran his thumbs over her nipples, making them pucker and get hard. He leaned over and kissed her softly. His smooth lips slowly increased pressure on her mouth. He opened his own and ran his tongue over her lips, as he rolled her nipples between his fingers.

Hermione moaned into his mouth. Got up on her toes and reached around his neck, twisting her fingers in his hair. Pushing her tongue into his mouth. Exploring it greedily. Insatiably. 

Draco abandoned her breasts and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her right up against his chest. One hand snaked into her hair, while the other settled at her hip. Hooked the waistband of her pyjama shorts, and pulled them down over her arse. Let them fall down around her ankles.

“Get into bed,” he growled into her ear, backing away from her and pulling off his t-shirt. 

It was the first time Hermione had seen Draco’s chest, seen such a large expanse of his porcelain white skin. Crisscrossed with scar tissue.

A small trail of silver hair ran from his navel down into his pyjama bottoms.

She reached out tentatively and placed her hand on him. Felt how hard his chest was. How cold. Looked at how dark her skin looked against his. Ran her hand down to his stomach. To the waistband of his pyjamas.

He took her hand in his, stopping her. 

“Into bed,” he growled again.

She looked up at him and smiled coyly. Stepped out of the pyjamas and over to Draco’s bed. She crawled in, feeling rather exposed as she did so with her arse up in the air.

Draco was right behind her. He put his hands on her hips. Caressed her buttocks. Only leaving her be when she pulled the blankets back and climbed in. She turned around and sat down, waiting for him to join her. He climbed in and closed the curtains of the four-poster bed. Waved his hand and cast a silencing charm, as well as some bluebell flames for light.

She looked at him in wonder. Shook her head and pushed her hair back. “I don’t understand how you can do so much wandless magic,” she pouted.

Really, it didn’t seem fair.

He came and sat next to her, not bothering to get under the blankets. Shrugged. “Well…” he  ran his hand through his hair, his eyes raking over Hermione’s exposed breasts. The blanket pooled at her waist. “The core in our wands helps channel our magic, right?”

“Right…” she replied, turning slightly on the bed so she was facing him.

“They come from magical creatures, Hermione.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide. “Which you are now,” she realised. 

Draco nodded. 

It made sense. Still seemed somewhat of a cheat, but considering—

Hermione’s thought process was interrupted as Draco took a handful of the blanket and pulled it back so he could see her. 

All of her. 

Her heartbeat sped up as he ran his hand up her leg, another low rumble coming from his chest. He leaned over and kissed her on the mouth before nuzzling his face in her neck, inhaling deeply, before running his tongue up to her ear. Nibbled on her earlobe before whispering, “Lie down Hermione. Let me worship you.”

Her breath caught as Draco’s hands guided her into a prone position. 

His hands ran up and down her side, from her knee, up her leg, all the way along her torso, tickling the sensitive skin under her arm, next to her breast.

“Draco,” she sighed as he kissed her jawline, and then her mouth. Pushed his tongue in to meet hers and deepen their kiss. His hand continued to glide over her body. Caressing her breasts and her stomach. Her hips and her thighs. He moved his mouth to her cheek, and kissed his way back to her ear. 

“I’m going to taste your entire body,” he purred, and Hermione’s pulse immediately descended between her legs.

Oh gods.

The mere thought of his tongue exploring her…everywhere, was the most sensual thing she’d ever contemplated, let alone experienced.

She hummed contentedly as he began, licking and sucking on her neck before moving under her chin and licking down her throat. He kissed the base of her neck and then dragged his tongue up along her collarbone to her shoulder, which he nipped gently, carefully. 

He smelled under her arm, tickling her with his nose, then ran his tongue down the sensitive skin of her inner arm to her elbow, making her shiver. Another warming charm washed over her as Draco kissed and licked his way down her forearm – pausing at her scars and kissing each letter of the word ‘mudblood’ gently – until he got to her wrist. 

He took her hand in his own, rubbed her palm with his thumb before turning it and bringing it up to his lips to kiss her knuckles. He lingered there for a moment, his cool breath on her hand, gazing intently into Hermione’s eyes. His blue eyes pierced into her very soul, leaving her breathless.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he took her index and middle fingers, put them in his mouth, and sucked .

Hermione’s eyes fluttered as Draco’s tongue ran along her fingers. She watched him, completely enthralled. Desperate. 

Saw his cheeks go hollow as he sucked on her digits and ran his hand up and down her arm, caressing it gently. She breathed deeply and shifted her position. Squeezed her thighs together, her desire growing.

Draco popped her fingers out of his mouth and leaned over her. Kissed her lips and licked along her jaw to her other side, starting the process all over again . 

Licking her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder and arm, down to her fingers. He kissed the tip of each one, then sucked two of them into his mouth.

Hermione moaned. Pushed her hips up against Draco’s leg. Desperate for some friction.

He took her fingers out of his mouth, and placed his hand on her hip. Pushed down as he leaned into her neck. 

“Not yet,” he whispered, then licked down her chest to the hollow between her breasts. Moved his mouth over and sucked a nipple into it, ran his tongue around it. Hermione arched her back and groaned. Grabbed a fistful of hair at the back of his head and held him to her chest.

“Oh Draco…” she breathed as he released her nipple, rubbed it with the flat of his tongue, then teased it gently with his teeth. 

She tried once more to push her hips up, but to no avail. 

“Unh-unh,” Draco purred, keeping his hand splayed across her hip, and pushed her down again. 

He moved his attention to her other nipple. Licked around her areola, before putting the whole thing into his mouth. Sucking on it, his cheeks going hollow, just like they had with her fingers.

Hermione’s heart rate spiked. She squeezed her thighs together and raised her knees. Groaning with need. Draco slowly, very deliberately, dragged his tongue under each breast, then down her stomach to her navel. Teased it with his tongue, making her break out into laughter, despite herself. 

He looked up, grinning. “Ticklish?” 

Hermione bit her lips, and he did it again. Took hold of her hips and held on tight. Kissed and licked above her curls, hovered and inhaled a moment before moving his attention over to her hip bone, and then down. He trailed his hands along her legs, his fingers coming so close to her groin.

She moaned in need.

Gods, she needed him to touch her.

Taste her.

Now .

But he didn’t. 

Draco’s tongue licked down her left inner thigh. Nipping playfully down to her knee. Massaged and kissed his way down her calf, and sucked on her ankle.

Hermione got up onto her elbows, looking down at him. “I’m liable to kick you in the face if you lick my feet. They’re terribly ticklish,” she warned.

“Mmm…” Draco hummed in acknowledgement. Took her foot in hand and held it firmly. Massaging it with just the right amount of pressure. Enough not to be ticklish. Enough to… oh gods . Hermione was convinced Draco had found some erogenous pressure point in her foot. He focused on it, watched her reaction. Watched her whimper.

He put her left foot down, then picked up her right. Caressing it. Massaging it in the exact same way. Just enough pressure so it didn’t tickle. Found the same pressure point that made her mewl with desire.

Hermione had never been much a fan of anyone touching her feet, but this? 

This was positively sinful.

She leaned her head back against the pillows and breathed deeply. Felt his tongue on the top of her foot, making its way to her ankle. He kissed and licked and sucked his way up her leg, completing his loop. He’d licked almost every inch of her and Hermione had never felt so aroused. 

She could feel the desire pooling. 

She knew what was coming next. 

Felt the throbbing between her legs increase. 

Desperate to know that cool tongue of his against her core.

When he reached her hip, Draco sat up on his knees. Looked at her with hooded eyes.

“Turn around,” he said. His voice was low. Husky.

Hermione frowned. “What?” she breathed out incredulously.

“Turn around,” he repeated. “I said I was going to taste every inch of you.”

“But…but…”

“Turn around,” he said slowly, enunciating carefully.

It took some effort for Hermione to move. To turn over. Her entire body felt like jelly. 

She felt her arousal leaking out. 

She lay down gingerly on her stomach, and crossed her arms on the pillow. Rested her head on them and closed her eyes as Draco began caressing her back. Running his hands over her shoulder blades and her sides. If she wasn’t already so turned on – so incredibly titillated – she might have fallen asleep, it felt so bloody good. So relaxing.

Though she couldn’t see him, she felt the depression in the mattress as Draco leaned over her. He moved her hair out of the way and his tongue touched her back, causing her to gasp. He licked his way across it, and down. Massaging, and kissing, and sucking on her skin. Down to her lower back. To the top of her buttocks.

He kneaded her arse cheeks, and nipped at them playfully. 

“Get up on your knees,” he told her. His voice guttural. A growl issuing forth from deep within his chest. 

Hermione’s eyes opened wide as Draco guided her onto her knees, her hind quarters in the air. She looked over her shoulder as he leaned down behind her and inhaled. The look on his face, pure bliss. Pure contentment. 

She held her breath as he held her hip with one hand and ran a finger through her slit and into her folds. Collecting her overabundant desire and spreading it. Teased her clit before running his finger back and forth again.

“Godric Gryffindor…” Hermione choked out, gasping for breath.

Draco leaned in even closer and ran his tongue along the same trajectory. 

Hermione’s whole body shook from the feel of his cold tongue against her warm cunt. The chill of it, and his breath, heightened every single sensation in the most delicious possible way. 

He growled and made another pass. Licking and nibbling at her clit before moving back and dipping his tongue inside her slit. 

“Nngghh,” Hermione moaned, and arched her back. 

He pushed his tongue in deeper, before removing it and sucking — her slit, her folds, her clit. He pulled away for a moment, his cold breath against her, before licking up higher, over her arse hole. 

She shuddered and whimpered into her arm.

She hadn’t been expecting that. 

Hadn’t expected it to feel so good. 

He did it again, and lingered a moment, his tongue exploring. She pushed her rump back against him.

“ Please ,” she choked out.

Gods , she was throbbing. So full of need. So full of desire. She was absolutely positive it was dripping out of her by now.

Draco backed up and took a deep breath. Ran his hand up and down her back. Caressed her arse. 

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he breathed and ran his fingers through her folds again. Spread her lips and inserted two fingers as he contemplated her cunt. Pulled out and ran them over her clit again. 

No longer teasing, but rubbing hard.

Hermione pushed back again, and whimpered. Her face buried in her arm.

“Oh gods, Draco…I need to lie down,” she choked out, her whole body trembling. “My knees are going to give out…”

Draco backed away and sat on his feet again. “Of course,” he said, caressing her thigh, and her arse. “Get comfortable.”

She rolled onto her side, and finally onto her back. Breathed a sigh of relief as she rearranged her legs so Draco was between them. 

Looked at him with longing.

“Good?” he asked.

“Good,” she confirmed with a dip of her chin.

She felt like she might black out, she was so overwhelmed. So overstimulated.

He ran his hand up her leg, and leaned over. Once his face was level with her cunt, he gripped her hip with one hand, and fingered her with the other, while his mouth licked and sucked her clit.

Hermione moaned and pulled her hair up and off her neck as she squirmed underneath him. She grabbed him by the hair, twisting it between her fingers and raised her knees, planting her feet on the bed. Her hips began to move of their own volition, pushing rhythmically against Draco. Nudging his face for more friction. More feeling. 

He rubbed her clit with the flat of his tongue, then removed his fingers from inside her. Moved them south and rubbed the rim of her arse as his tongue took their place in her slit. Rubbed her clit with his other thumb. 

Hermione panted desperately, gasping for air as her hips began to buck rapidly, and her grip in Draco’s hair tightened.

She raised her hips, arching her back, as her cunt clenched. Completely overwhelmed by the intensity of her orgasm. 

She saw stars. 

The pulsing and throbbing was so strong, so forceful, she thought she’d explode. 

“Nnnngghhhh,” she cried out. 

Loudly. 

Louder than she’d ever done with anyone before. 

She stretched her legs out, and they went limp. Her hands still held on to Draco’s hair, his mouth still on her cunt.

As she lay panting, trying to catch her breath, Draco remained between her legs. Licking her folds gently, and suckling on her clit. Causing ripples of sensation to rocket through her body. 

Little orgasmic aftershocks.  

When her heartbeat finally slowed, Draco looked up over her mound, his hand trailing through her folds. “You’re incredible,” he told her. 

“I taste incredible?” she asked, wondering. He’d just gone down on her for the first time, after all.

Draco shook his head. 

“ Everything about you is incredible.” 

He got up on his hands and knees and crawled over her until they were face to face. Straddling her, he leaned down and kissed her. Deeply. Hermione could taste herself in his mouth. She’d never particularly cared to kiss after oral sex, but with Draco, it was different. She was so desperate to kiss him, loved the feel of his lips and his tongue so much, it didn’t matter where he’d been. The musky tang of her arousal tasted different in his mouth. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down so he was on top of her. She wanted to kiss him more. Wanted to feel his weight on top of her. Wanted to feel his erection against her.

He pulled away a moment, leaning on one elbow. Pushed her hair out of the way, and stroked her cheek with his thumb. He kissed her on the mouth again, running his hand along her side and grasping her hip. Pulling her towards him. Pushing himself against her. His hips moving. 

Seeking release.

Hermione reached down for his waistband. Dipped her hand in.

“No,” he choked out, and rolled over. Away from her. “We’re already trying to determine if my saliva is infectious…we cannot introduce another variable…”

Fuck .

To hear him speak so rationally – about controls during an experiment – had never turned Hermione on so much.

She rolled on to her side to look at him. 

“How can I pleasure you?” she asked, reaching over and rubbing his cock through his pyjama bottoms.

Draco’s whole body shuddered. A growl rumbled from his chest, and his eyes went almost completely black. He bit his lip. Shook his head. Breathed deeply.

She kept rubbing and felt him grow harder beneath her caresses.

“Can I touch you?” she asked.

He didn’t speak. Just shook his head slightly. 

Hermione continued to caress Draco’s cock, as his hips began to move. He looked so desperate. Positively ravenous.

“What if I watch you?” she suggested. “I won’t touch you…” she leaned in and kissed him. “I’ll just watch you pleasure yourself?” She ran her hand up his chest, along his neck to the back of his head. Caressed his scalp. Looked at him imploringly.

She wanted him to come. And not in his pants. 

She wanted to see him. 

She was so fucking desperate to see his cock. 

To see its length and girth. 

To feel its weight in her hands. 

To feel it inside her. 

Oh gods .

Draco appeared to be having a very similar internal debate. 

“Okay,” he concluded and nodded slightly. Backed away from her. Lifted his hips and pulled his bottoms down.

Hermione held her breath. 

She saw his patch of silver curls first, and then his cock sprung out – hard, and slightly pink against his alabaster skin. Though she hadn’t had too much experience with other men, she liked to think she wasn’t inexperienced either. 

Draco was perfect. 

Sizeable in both senses. Not enormous or daunting. Definitely not small . She got up and sat on her heels to watch as he took himself in hand. Dragged his foreskin back and forth. Groaned. 

Or growled. 

She tore her gaze away and looked at his face. Found him already looking at her. His eyes were dark. His brows slightly furrowed. Concentrating. 

She returned her attention to his cock as he dragged his foreskin back, reached up with his other hand and rubbed his thumb across his tip. Over the slit. Gathering his precum and spreading it over his head. 

His breathing became laboured. He increased the pace of his pumping. A light sheen of sweat covered his chest making him nearly glow in the light of the bluebell flames.

His eyes were glowing. 

They’d become a vibrant electric blue – the same colour they’d been in the Forbidden Forest.

He was beautiful. 

Ethereal. 

He looked like an angel.

She felt a surge of intense longing to touch him. Wished it was her hand pleasuring him. Her hand on his cock. 

Her mouth. 

Her cunt. 

She watched as his hips began to move again, and felt her own desire return. Felt it pooling at her entrance. 

Without taking her eyes off him, she spread her knees apart, and reached down between her legs. She inserted her index and middle fingers into her arousal, then dragged it back through her folds and to her clit. Rubbing it lazily as she watched Draco’s hand speed up.

“Fuck, Hermione,” he choked. 

He was watching her. Transfixed. His eyes focused on the hand touching herself.

She started swaying her hips in time with his pumps, matching his rhythm. She slid her fingers inside herself, imagining it was his cock. She felt a flutter in her gut at the mere thought of it, and watched Draco get rougher with himself, holding tighter, pumping faster, his thumb rubbing against his tip on each pass. 

“ Fucking fuck ,” he growled. 

His whole body tensed and he leaned forward slightly, the muscles in his abdomen contracting. He lifted his shoulders up off the bed, slowed his pumping and angled his cock over his stomach. His eyes fluttered shut and he groaned as he came. His cum spurting onto his stomach in beaded white streaks. 

He leaned his head back against the bed breathing deeply, his chest heaving, catching his breath. A moment later he waved his hand and vanished all trace of his emissions. Pulled his pyjama bottoms back up.  

He leaned over and reached for Hermione. Taking her hip in hand, he squeezed tightly, and pulled on her — not entirely gently. 

Hermione looked at him, her eyebrows raised.

“Straddle me,” he said huskily.

“But I thought…” 

He shook his head. 

“Not my cock, my face.” 

Oh.

Oh.

Hermione got up off her feet and onto her knees, then crawled up the bed so she was kneeling next to Draco’s head. 

She’d never done this before. Never sat on anyone’s face. Would she suffocate him?

“You want me to just…”

“Yes,” Draco growled, looking impatient. He reached over and tugged on her hips again. Guiding one leg over his head so she was straddling his face. Then, he pulled down on her hips. Hard.

“But Draco…”

Hermione lost all capacity for coherent thought as Draco leaned up and his mouth made contact with her cunt. Wrapped his arms around her thighs and pulled her down onto his face. His tongue slid into her and his nose rubbed against her clit, and she couldn’t stop herself from bucking almost immediately. She was already so sensitive. Already so overstimulated. He traced her folds with his tongue then moved his mouth to her clit, flicked it, and sucked. 

“Nnngghhh…” Hermione groaned. She grabbed hold of the headboard, grinding against Draco’s face – no longer concerned about whether or not he could breathe. She could only think about the intense, throbbing desire pulsating through her cunt. 

Through her entire body. 

As Draco continued to suck and lick her clit, he ran his thumb over her slit then dragged her arousal back to her arse hole, circling her rim. “Oohh…fuck,” Hermione cried out and grimaced at the magnitude of sensations she was feeling. At how incredibly good everything Draco was doing felt. 

She started moving her hips faster. Riding Draco’s face, grinding against it and pushing back against his thumb, chasing her climax with unabandoned wantonness. 

Her legs started to shake and she broke out into a sweat as she felt her cunt clenching on itself. Draco eased up on her arse, and grabbed her buttocks, holding on tightly. Steadying her. 

She threw her head back and groaned through her orgasm. She slowed the pace of her hips, and focused on Draco’s tongue. On the chill of it. On how he continued to caress her folds and dip it inside her. Like it didn’t matter that she’d come, he just couldn’t get enough of her. Of her taste.

Gods, his tongue was incredible. She was loath to move. To remove herself from it. 

But.

Her legs were cramping.

She lifted her bum and sat up on her knees – once more straddling Draco’s face. Looked down at him between her legs and couldn't help smiling.

“That was…” she moved over beside him and lay down, flopping onto the bed, exhausted. “That was incredible,” she breathed out. Draco rolled onto his side and nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck. His tongue already on her. Tasting her sweat. His hand caressed along her side – her leg, her hip, the side of her torso, her breasts.

Worshipping. 

Hermione shifted back a little so she could see his face then guided his mouth to hers and kissed him. Ran her tongue across his lips and into his mouth. Tasted herself on him again. Wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened their kiss before finally breaking away and rubbing her nose against his. Cupping his cheek with her hand. 

She was both spent and exhausted.

She held back a yawn and smiled somewhat regretfully. “I know you don’t need to sleep as much anymore, Draco, but…” she started.

“...but you do,” he finished for her. “Message received.” He smirked, and squeezed her hip affectionately. “Let’s go to sleep, then.”

“I’ll just go to the loo,” Hermione said, sitting up and looking around herself. “I don’t have any pyjamas,” she stated, her tone slightly accusatory. 

Draco looked around the bed and grabbed his t-shirt. Handed it to her.

It would do.

She put it on and exited the four-poster carefully and quietly and made her way to the toilet. 

When she climbed back into bed a few minutes later, Draco was under the blankets. He held them open for her, and she slid in. 

He wrapped his arm – and the blankets – around her, and spooned her. A wash of warmth spread through her whole body as his warming charm settled over her.

She fell asleep immediately.

-

When Hermione woke up the next morning, she was disoriented and slightly alarmed. 

She was sleeping on her side, her legs thrown out of the blankets, and wearing just a t-shirt that had ridden up to her waist. Her arse bare for all the world to see.

She frowned, cracked open her eyes and tried to focus. She saw the green of the Slytherin-coloured curtains all around her, and remembered where she was. Stretching her hand out in search of Draco, she found his knee. Opened her eyes up fully, to see he was sitting up in bed next to her, reading.

“Hey,” she said sleepily.

“Hey,” he replied, closing his book. “Did you sleep alright?”

Hermione pulled the blankets up and over her, covering her behind. Considered his question. “I did,” she finally answered. “I actually slept really well.” She frowned. “No fever?” 

Draco shook his head. “Your temperature seemed elevated for a bit at one point, but I expect you were just dreaming. A nightmare. You thrashed around a bit.”

“I woke you?”

“I was already awake.”

Hermione bit her lip, and nodded. Fully took Draco in. 

He was… bloody hell. He was dressed. She panicked and sat up quickly. 

“What time is it?” she practically shouted, her heart thumping.

Draco shook his head. Put his hand on her thigh and caressed it soothingly. “It’s early. Don’t worry,” he reassured her. “I was awake and figured I’d get my shower out of the way, considering there’d be one more person vying for the hot water this morning.” He shrugged and looked down at his t-shirt and trousers. “It didn’t make sense to get back into pyjamas.”

Hermione’s whole body relaxed. She took a deep breath and nodded. Laid back down. 

“So what time is it?”

Draco pulled the curtains aside and reached out, came back with her wrist watch in his hand. “It’s just before six,” he replied, then scooched down on the bed to pull Hermione into his arms to snuggle. Spat a bit, and pushed her hair out of his face. 

Hermione got up onto her elbow, collected her hair and pulled it aside – under her, and away from Draco’s face, then lay back on his shoulder. 

“You look like a ragamuffin,” he smiled into her hair.

“I have curly hair,” she pointed out. 

“And I love it,” he replied, resting his chin on her head, purring.

-

It felt like they were making a statement when Hermione and Draco exited the Slytherin common room holding hands that morning. It seemed to signify that their relationship had progressed to another level. Beyond stolen moments at parties, in alcoves, and the library. Beyond pure lustful abandon – though there had been no lack of that in Draco’s bed that night.

It felt intentional. Purposeful.

They were together. 

Officially .

At least that’s how Hermione felt as she dropped him off at the castle kitchens and kissed him goodbye, then made her way to the Great Hall for breakfast. She had considered joining Draco, but felt it best to do damage control with her friends and housemates before they got to class.

When she walked in, she was met with a series of whoops and hollers, and only a few jeers. Her cheeks got hot and she couldn’t help grinning like a fucking idiot. She sat down next to Ginny, across from Neville, and started piling food on her plate. 

She was starving .

“Sooooo? How did it go?” Ginny asked with a wicked little grin. “You look…” she tilted her head, considering, “...well rested. Satisfied.”

Hermione took a deep breath and sat up tall. Bit off a piece of toast, chewed, and then pointed the remaining triangle of toast at her friend, replying, “I slept extremely well, thank you.”

Neville frowned from across the table. “I would find it strange sleeping below ground in the dungeons. Claustrophobic. Cold…” He shivered as if to get his point across.

“You know,” Hermione shifted in her seat and took a gulp of pumpkin juice. “I thought the same thing, Neville. But the dungeons are actually rather airy and comfortable, and the glow emanating from the Black Lake is really quite soothing. I had no problem falling asleep.”

Ginny cackled. “Hermione, I’m sure it wasn’t just the soothing glow from the lake that helped you fall asleep.”

Hermione cleared her throat. Swallowed her bite of egg. “No. It wasn’t,” she admitted. 

She was positively glowing. 

Couldn’t help it.

Harry leaned over from Ginny’s other side. “Are you two really going to discuss this at breakfast?” he asked, looking somewhat mortified. He pushed up his glasses and shook his head. “You’re like my sister , Hermione…”

Ginny looked at her boyfriend. “But it’s all fresh, Harry! When else are we going to discuss––” 

“Never,” Ron interrupted from across the table, looking completely thunderous. “I have no desire to eat my breakfast, listening to tales of whoring in the Slytherin dungeons.”

“ Excuse me? ” Ginny replied with indignation.

“I was not whoring , Ron,” Hermione replied at the same time, her voice shaking with anger. 

Outrage. Shock.

“Whatever,” Ron huffed out, looking at her with unfiltered loathing and resentment. “You’ve become a pathetic little slut, and you know it.” His eyes narrowed. “I’ve seen it.”

Hermione almost spat her food out. Couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“Wait, what?” Harry asked, looking confused.

“Oh please ,” Ginny jumped in. “It’s common knowledge that she and Malfoy have been unable to keep their hands off each other. Almost everyone has spotted them in some compromising position somewhere or other. You’re not special, Ron.”

“Ginny,” Hermione frowned, placing her hand on her friend’s arm. “I’m not sure you’re helping.”

Ginny shook her off and continued, “I’m just saying it’s normal. They just got together. It’s new and exciting. I mean, Harry and I were the same after the war…” Harry groaned at his name being dragged into the discussion. “ And so were you and Hermione ,” Ginny went on, pointing her fork at her brother. “You’re just sore she’s with Malfoy now and not you.”

The table was silent. 

Everyone looked from Hermione, to Ron, to Ginny, then back again.

“He had his hand in your knickers, Hermione. In the library . Don’t even try to deny it. I saw it. You’re a fucking slag.” 

Harry put his arms out, as if to keep Ron away from Hermione and Ginny – though they were on opposite sides of the table. “Whoa…” he said. “Let’s all just calm down…”

“What’s he saying, Hermione?” Neville asked innocently.

Both of them were ignored.

Hermione stood up. Seething. She leaned over the table and narrowed her eyes. “Well, at least he had my consent , Ron.”

Ginny nodded her head in solidarity. 

Ron stood up, his face red and full of hate and fury. “You fucking cu–– ”

“Is there a problem here?” a calm voice interrupted from behind her. 

Hermione turned around to find Theo, Pansy bloody Parkinson, and that beater who’d had the bloody nose during the big quidditch match. 

She really should learn his name.

Ron looked at the newcomers and grimaced. “Mind your own fucking business, snakes.”

Theo stepped forward and stood next to Hermione. She’d never noticed how tall he was. How broad shouldered. He really was rather formidable. “You talk like that to one of my friends, and it is my business,” he replied calmly.

Hermione looked up at him. “Thanks, Theo,” she said quietly.

Theo’s gaze flicked down at her a moment, then returned to Ron.

“So that’s how it is?” Ron laughed cruelly. “You start fucking a Slytherin and suddenly they’re all your friends?”

“That’s exactly how it is,” Pansy said, stepping forward and taking Hermione’s arm. “We look after our own.” She tugged slightly, pulling Hermione away from the table. “Come on, Granger. There’s no sense in hanging around here.”

Harry appeared like he was going to say something, but Ginny put her hand on his, and shook her head.

Hermione stumbled slightly as she fell in step with the taller woman. Looked up at her. “Pansy, I don’t understand…” She looked back to see Theo exchange a few more words with Ron before he and the beater – really, what was his name? – followed.

Pansy squeezed her arm. “Draco’s not here to defend you, so we did,” she replied nonchalantly. 

“But you…” Hermione frowned. “You…”

“I what ?” Pansy asked, her eyes wide.

“You hate me,” Hermione finished lamely.

Pansy tsked. 

“I do not hate you, Granger. I dislike you. There’s a difference. Besides,” she shrugged, “considering how much Draco fucking despises the weasel, and the fact you mentioned the word consent just now, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what happened. I may not know the extent of it, or the details…” she looked at Hermione pointedly, “and I don’t want to,” she flipped the locks of her long bob off her shoulder before continuing, “but the weasel’s behaviour is something I simply will not stand for.”

As they exited the Great Hall, they met Draco just coming up the stairs, his eyes wide and alert, his nostrils flared.  

Hermione almost wept with relief. 

As thankful as she was for her rescue, she was decidedly uncomfortable around Draco’s housemates when he wasn’t there. Was still unsure how to relate to them. Talk to them. 

Coexist peacefully with them.

“What happened?” he asked, pulling Hermione out of Pansy’s grasp and into his arms, and looking at each of them in turn. It was clear he knew something had happened. Hermione’s heart rate was still elevated. She felt hot and knew her chest and neck would be red and splotchy. He started rubbing soothing circles on her back.

She started to explain, “Ron just got a little upset…”

“No,” Theo interrupted, “He was more than upset. He was…”

“Enraged,” Pansy supplied. 

Theo nodded his thanks. “He was enraged. Started spewing vile insults.”

Hermione felt the rumble in Draco’s chest before she heard it. A low growl that he attempted to suppress. She looked up at him to find his jaw clenched. His lips pressed in a thin line. He dipped his head and inhaled. Breathing in the scent of her hair, before shaking his head.

“That’s it. I’ve had enough of that motherfucker.” 

His voice was barely above a whisper. It was unclear if he was talking to himself, or if he meant to be heard. He released Hermione, stepped around her and started towards the Great Hall.

“Draco?” Hermione asked in alarm, skipping to keep up with his long stride. The rumble was back. Louder. “Draco, you’re growling,” she said urgently. He paused for a moment at the door. Took a deep breath. Pushed his anger back. Swallowed it. Then walked towards the Gryffindor table.

“Weasley,” he spat out. 

Loudly. 

There was clearly no intention to keep this private. 

“Draco…” Hermione looked up at him, her eyes pleading. “Just…watch your temper,” she warned.

His chin dipped in acknowledgment as he walked up to Ron who had by now stood up. Waiting for Draco with a look of complete and utter disdain on his face. 

A look of moral superiority.

“What do you want, Ferret?” Ron said with a cruel laugh, and crossed his arms over his chest.

Draco wasn’t playing games. 

He didn’t take the bait. 

He walked right up to Ron, reached out and grabbed his throat. Held it firmly, leaned in close and hissed, “If you’ve got a problem with me, you fucking coward, you take it up with me . You leave Hermione out of it.” 

He tightened his grip. Ron grasped at Draco’s hand at his throat. At his arm. Tried to push and pull on his clothes as he attempted to release himself.

“Hey, woah…” Harry yelped from the other side of the table. He stood up and looked helplessly at how far he’d have to walk to get around. Cursing, he jumped onto the table to climb over it.

Draco ignored him and kept his focus entirely on Ron, whose face was beginning to turn purple. “Do you understand me, shitstain? You are not to speak to Hermione. Don’t even look at her, unless it’s to get out of her way…”

“ Malfoy… ” Harry said with a warning tone, and now he was on the same side of the table, trying to pull him off Ron. Draco grabbed Harry’s shirt with his free hand and pushed him away as if he was nothing, never once taking his eyes off Ron.

“ Do you understand? ” he asked Ron. 

Ron spluttered and gasped for breath. 

Harry had stumbled back into the table. Hermione helped him up and held on to him. Shook her head not to interfere again. 

Movement at the front of the Great Hall indicated the professors were finally making their way over.

“ Do you understand? ” Draco repeated.

Ron managed a grunt. 

It seemed to satisfy Draco, who released Ron’s neck. He crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath.

“Mr. Malfoy!” exclaimed Headmistress McGonagall as she strode towards the scene. 

Draco spared the headmistress a glance then turned to Harry. “And what about you , Potter?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Harry exclaimed in surprise.

“Draco, Harry’s just been trying to help,” Hermione provided. 

She watched as Draco closed his eyes, the muscles in his jaw straining. Desperately worried he’d lose his temper and…she didn’t really know what she was afraid of. That his eyes would start to glow. That he’d growl. That he’d reveal to the whole school he was no longer human.

He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and exhaled. “You’re supposed to be her friend, Potter. Her best friend. You’re supposed to do something, you fuckwit.”

Hermione couldn’t help thinking Draco made a good point. Though Harry was aware of her troubles with Ron, and clearly disapproved of his best friend’s actions, he had quite decidedly stayed out of it. More or less remained neutral since Hermione had decided not to pursue it.

“What was I supposed to do ?” Harry asked. “They’re both my best friends.”

Draco looked completely exasperated, like he was going to lose it. He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re fucking kidding me, right? You’re supposed to be the saviour of the fucking wizarding world, but what? That doesn’t extend to those closest to you? To Hermione? For fuck’s sake, Potter. You should be standing up for her, but instead you just sit idly by and watch your other best friend destroy her?!”

“Draco…” Hermione went to take his arm. He brushed her away irritatedly and took her hand instead. Cracked his neck. Nostrils flaring.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Headmistress McGonagall repeated. “You will stop this boorish behaviour immediately.”

Draco shook his head. Muttered “ Fuck me ,” under his breath, and turned to face the headmistress.

“Explain yourself,” she said sternly. Frowning with obvious disappointment.

“I can’t,” he said, squeezing Hermione’s hand slightly.

“You can’t, or you won’t?” the headmistress asked.

“I can’t,” Draco repeated. Brows drawing in.

Hermione looked up at him, her eyes wide. 

If he didn’t tell McGonagall something, she would surely punish him. She might even expel him. He didn’t benefit from Harry’s privilege to seemingly do anything – including curse and almost kill Draco – and only get detention. He didn’t have his family’s name or influence to fall back on anymore. Would McGonagall treat him more harshly because he wasn’t human? Because he was capable of inflicting more damage – even though he did restrain himself?

What would happen if Draco got expelled?

Objectively speaking, he’d be fine. He didn’t really need his N.E.W.T.s or a job. He had his family fortune and estate to run. But…

But.

Hermione couldn’t imagine Hogwarts without him. 

Not now at least. 

Couldn’t imagine not having him as a potions partner. Having him sit next to her in the library. Or criticising her writing. She couldn’t imagine not having someone so in tune with how she was feeling. Couldn’t imagine him not breathing in the scent of her hair. Of her skin. Couldn’t imagine him not tasting her. Licking her. Everywhere.

She felt that Draco had fundamentally changed her in some way. That his creature instincts and primal needs and desires had biologically rewired her to crave his attentions.

She needed him.

She couldn’t lose him.

She squeezed Draco’s hand and declared, “I can explain, Professor.”

“It’s fine, Hermione,” Draco said tightly. “You don’t have to explain anything.”

“I do,” she disagreed. 

She looked at the headmistress. “Only…I’d prefer to explain in private.” Her eyes flicked to Ron on the floor. He was still catching his breath, and though he was regaining his colour, started to turn decidedly green.

Professor McGonagall’s stern gaze fell to Hermione and Draco’s clasped hands. She sighed. “Maybe it would be best if we spoke in my office,” she agreed. She looked at the crowd that had gathered and made shooing motions. “Move along now. There’s nothing more to see. Off you go.” 

Chapter Text

Professor McGonagall sat down at her desk, cleared her throat, and clasped her hands in front of her. “Explain, Miss Granger,” she said, already looking sceptical.

Hermione let go of Draco’s hand as they each took a seat across from the headmistress. She pushed her hair back. “At the end of February, Ron…well, he…” 

Fuck.

This was harder to say out loud than she’d thought it would be.

“What did Mr. Weasley do?” McGonagall prompted.

Hermione took a deep breath, nodded to herself and continued, “…he assaulted me. In an alcove on the fourth floor.”

“He assaulted you?” 

“Yes. He…” she hesitated, looking up at Draco, who nodded in encouragement. She looked back at the professor, “…he sexually assaulted me.”

McGonagall’s eyebrows shot up. “And you didn’t think to tell anyone?” she asked in disbelief.

“I…didn’t report it, because, well…” she rubbed her hands on her robes. They were hot and sweaty. 

She felt, altogether, hot and sweaty and nervous. 

She took another deep breath. “…because he didn’t manage to… get very far.”

“You managed to repel him?”

“No,” Hermione winced. “Draco intervened. He stopped Ron from…from getting any further.”

McGonagall’s piercing gaze looked at Draco before turning back to Hermione. “At the end of February, you say?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes.”

“And would I be correct to presume that Mr. Malfoy’s interference is what caused Mr. Weasley’s broken nose at that time?”

“Yeah, that was me,” Draco confirmed, sounding almost nonchalant.

Hermione looked at him, her brows drawing together. He needed to tread more carefully.

The headmistress sighed. “And how is it you happened to stumble upon Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley at precisely the right moment?” she asked, directing her gaze to Draco.

He sucked his teeth. Hesitated for a moment, as if trying to determine how honest he should be. Finally, he shrugged. He must have decided on the truth. “I could smell Hermione’s fear. I tracked her.”

“You tracked her?”

“That’s what I said.”

Professor McGonagall frowned and shifted in her chair. “Mr. Malfoy, when you detailed the…changes…you underwent this past year…” Draco snorted at this description, “...you reported having a heightened sense of smell. You did not indicate you could smell some one or some thing from across the castle and hunt it down .”

Draco’s nostrils flared in irritation. 

Hermione didn’t blame him. 

The headmistress’ tone was combative. The fact she’d used the term ‘hunt’ rather than ‘track’ indicated to Hermione she considered Draco dangerous.

“Because I didn’t know, Headmistress.”

“And how – when – did you find out?” she asked. Demanded. 

Draco ran his hand over his face, and scratched his chin. “After Christmas. When Hermione was assigned as my potions partner.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged. “After I got to know her scent, I could just…smell her. Everywhere. Anywhere.”

“And you didn’t think to tell anyone? Didn’t think it pertinent?”

“I told Hermione.” 

The headmistress took an annoyed breath. “Why?”

“Why…did I tell Hermione…?”

“No, Mr. Malfoy. Why do you think you can hunt Miss Granger?”

Draco’s brows pulled together again.

“I don’t know why.”

McGonagall’s eyes narrowed. “Can you smell – or hunt – others as well as Miss Granger?”

“No.” Draco shook his head. “Just her.” He shifted on his chair, seeming frustrated. “And I don’t hunt —“

“Why do you think that is, Mr. Malfoy?” McGonagall interrupted him.

Draco took a deep breath and grimaced slightly. Cracked his knuckles. Shook his head, and muttered under his breath – so quietly even Hermione didn’t catch what he said.. 

It felt like an inquisition. The headmistress’ line of questioning had nothing to do with what had happened in the Great Hall. 

Not anymore .

She seemed determined to prove Draco was some kind of threat. A predator. That he could – and would – hunt the students of Hogwarts. 

Of course Hermione knew that Draco did hunt – but only in the Forbidden Forest. He could pick up a scent and track it – but not because he was looking for prey. He needed activity. Needed stimulation. Needed distraction.

Right now, what he needed most was help.

“I think I know,” Hermione interjected.

They both looked at her. McGonagall’s eyebrows shot up in interrogation, while Draco’s drew down in a scowl.

“Well, Miss Granger?” The headmistress tapped her fingers impatiently on her desk. “By all means. Illuminate us.”

Hermione worked hard to keep her face smooth. Free of scorn.

“I’m his mate,” she said matter-of-factly.

Draco sucked in his breath and leaned back in his chair, his eyes almost completely dilated. Hermione was certain she heard a purr emanating from the back of his throat. He swallowed it very deliberately, his Adam’s apple bobbing, then bit his lips.

“His mate?” Professor McGonagall exclaimed in disbelief. 

“Yes.” 

“It’s why he knows my scent so well, and can smell me wherever I am. Why he can sense any little change in temperature or heart rate. He’s attuned to me. It’s why he could smell, track, and protect me from Ron back in February. It’s why he got upset when he found out Ron had been verbally abusive this morning. It’s why he instinctively feels the need to protect me.” Hermione paused and looked at Draco, who was staring back at her intently. 

Desperately. 

Hungrily. 

“He has no choice.”

“You don’t think Mr. Malfoy has a choice?”

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t.” 

She would argue until she was blue in the face that Draco was not at fault for what had happened in the Great Hall that morning.

“He’s a magical creature now, Professor. We can’t forget that. He can’t be held accountable for something that’s in his nature. His behaviour can’t be compared to that of a wizard, because, well…” She pushed her hair out of her eyes and looked at Draco apologetically.  “...because he’s not a wizard anymore. He’s a creature, and therefore driven more by instinct than reason.” Hermione leaned forward in her chair. “If anyone could explain it best, it would be Hagrid. He has the most experience with magical creatures, and he’s gotten to know Draco since his transformation.”

Professor McGonagall sat silently for a moment, frowning. 

“That…won’t be necessary, Miss Granger,” she finally said, and pushed up her glasses. “I’ve made my decision.” She looked at Draco. “Miss Granger is correct – you are…fundamentally different than your peers. You’re now a registered magical creature with the Ministry. That being said, you cannot go around choking other students. Creature or not, it is inexcusable behaviour. You must control your instincts, Mr. Malfoy.” She paused, and looked down her nose at Draco. “You will have detention beginning this weekend, and all through next week.” 

Draco’s teeth clenched, but he remained quiet. 

The headmistress went on, “I understand Hagrid has a project that could use your…assistance. Your unique skills. You will help him get started on that.”

Hermione bit her cheek. Forced herself not to say anything to change the headmistress’ mind. It was hardly a detention. Draco would be spending his time in the forest with Hagrid. He’d love it. She managed a peek to see that he, too, was trying to keep a poker face. Looking a little overly surly.

“As for you, Miss Granger…” Hermione looked at Professor McGonagall. 

What about her?

“Do you wish to make a formal complaint against Mr. Weasley? For his previous actions, or those from this morning?”

Hermione shook her head. “No. I think Draco was pretty clear about what’s expected of Ron…let’s see if he can do it.”

“Very well,” the headmistress nodded. “I will write each of you a note to explain your tardiness to your professors. Miss Granger, I believe you’re meant to be in Charms right now, and Mr. Malfoy is headed to Muggle Studies?”

-

Hermione broke into a grin as soon as they got past the gargoyle at the bottom of the stairs to the headmistress’ office. “For a few seconds there, I really thought she was going to expel you…” 

She breathed a sigh of relief, and pulled her hair off her neck, letting the air cool her, before continuing, “She seemed absolutely determined to discover some new and nefarious capability on your part…something that would make it unsafe for you to remain in the school.” She shook her head, thinking. “It was really rather obvious, too. I’m just happy I managed to turn it around…”

She looked up at Draco and frowned.

He was being awfully quiet.

Just walking silently beside her, biting his lip, his brow furrowed and looking down at the ground. His head jerked slightly every now and then, as if he were arguing with himself.

“Draco?”   

He looked at her and grimaced.

Hermione stopped walking. “Draco, what’s wrong?”

“Did you mean that?” he asked. “What you said up in McGonagall’s office?”

“I said a lot of things in McGonagall’s office. Which are you referring to?”

He ran a hand through his hair, looking slightly irritated. “You’re joking, right?”

“I’m not,” she replied honestly. She had said a lot of things. “Which one are you asking about?”

Draco looked down at the ground and scratched the back of his neck. He didn’t look up when he responded, “I’m asking if you were serious about being my mate?”

“Oh, that…” Hermione smiled. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I was serious. After talking to Hagrid, it really is the only logical explanation…” 

He looked up at her, appearing completely conflicted. “And…” he hesitated. Took a deep breath before continuing, “...and are you okay with that? That I’ve…somehow…” he covered his mouth with the back of his hand. Removed it and finished, “...that I’ve paired, or…or bonded with you?”

He was back to looking down at the ground. Unable to maintain eye contact with her.

Hermione bent down slightly to get into his line of sight. “Draco…” she said gently. She stood up straight after catching his eye, and reached up to brush the fringe out of his eyes. “Is it true you’re a registered magical creature?” she asked. 

Draco took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Nodded. “An unidentified hybrid, by way of infection,” he told her. Clenched his jaw.

“So you’re not officially a ‘zombie’?” she asked, the hint of a smile pulling at her lips.

“No,” he shook his head. “My mother fought to keep the label vague. Felt any reference to the infection being from an Inferius would…make things more difficult for me.”

“That was very smart of her,” Hermione said quietly. She cupped his jaw in her hand, got up on her toes and kissed him gently. “Draco,” she said into his mouth, “I am absolutely okay with being the mate of an unidentified magical hybrid.” She kissed him again and wrapped her arms around his neck as his hands slid to her lower back. 

He broke away from her lips and looked at her seriously. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” she nodded, and kissed him again. Harder. Wanting to impress upon him how very sure she was. How she wasn’t just his mate – he was hers, too. 

She ran her tongue over his lips and he opened his mouth for her. Deepened their kiss. One of his hands ran up her back and into her hair, while the other moved to her hip and gently stepped her back to the wall. Pushed her up against it, leaned in and buried his face in her neck, dragging his tongue over her skin and up to her ear. “I hope you’re not in a rush to get to class…” he whispered as he pulled open her robe. Grasped the fabric of her skirt, and pulled it up.

“Nooo,” Hermione breathed out. “I’ve already reviewed the day’s lesson, and done some extra reading.”

She could feel his smile against her neck. “Good girl,” he chuckled, and ran his hand up her outer thigh. Reached around and grabbed her arse playfully, before running his finger along the elastic of her knickers, over her hip to her groin, and then finally pulling them aside.

“Oh, Draco…” Hermione moaned, holding tighter to his neck. “We’re…we’re in the middle of the corridor.”

“I know where we are,” he said huskily into her ear, then sucked on her earlobe.

“Mmm…”  Hermione was finding it increasingly difficult to think as Draco’s fingers slipped in and out of her cunt, traced her folds back and forth to spread her arousal, and finally found her clit. Rubbing gentle little circles around it at first, before adding pressure and going back and forth. She tangled her fingers into the hair at the back of his head, and leaned against the wall. Pushed her pelvis into his hand, wanting more. “But someone could…could…nngghh…could see us,” she finally managed, bucking her hips in time with his hand. 

“I really couldn’t give a fuck,” he replied, then licked along her jaw, catching her mouth in a kiss. Ran his tongue along hers, and reinserted his fingers into her slit. Began pumping. Rubbing the heel of his hand against her clit roughly.

She groaned and her hands slid down the front of his shirt, grabbing fistfuls of it. She looked down to watch his hand pushing against her. Into her. To watch her hips move forward to meet his hand with each thrust.

Godric Gryffindor, it felt good.

Hermione’s head lolled against the wall. Turned lazily to look left, and then right. Assessing. Ensuring the corridor was empty. This was the most exposed location they’d fucked yet, and it was…well, it was incredibly arousing to think someone might turn down the corridor at any moment. Might see Draco…

Oh gods. 

He pulled his hand out of her cunt, brought his fingers to his lips and licked them clean. Then got down on his knees and closed his eyes as he breathed in her musk. The look on his face serene. Content. Blissful.

He pulled her knickers down her legs and guided them off her feet, over her shoes. Put them in his pocket. He ran his tongue along her inner thigh, then along her groin before hitching her leg up over his shoulder. Dragging his tongue over her folds.

Hermione’s knees almost gave out. 

She grabbed hold of his hair and pushed herself against his face. Relishing the feeling of his cool breath against her hot skin. Of his silky soft tongue caressing her. Dipping inside of her. His mouth covered her slit. Laving her desire. He squeezed her thighs. Pressing his fingers into her flesh. Bruising her. 

It was exquisite.

She felt her desire increase. Progressing from a need to an outright urgency. Her hips started bucking against Draco’s face seeking friction. He focused his mouth on her clit – licking, sucking and nipping at it – and returned two fingers into her slit. Pumping in and out gently. 

“Oh fuck, Draco…” Hermione moaned as she ran her hands through his hair. Pulled him against her. The pulsing and throbbing in her core increased in intensity. Her hips, moving faster. Desperate. Frantic. Her need to come palpable.

It was then Hermione heard voices. 

Distant, but voices all the same. Echoing through the castles’ corridors, off its stone surfaces.

It didn’t dampen her desire.

As she listened to the voices – and the footsteps – coming closer, her resolve to come increased. “Faster, Draco. Harder,” she begged. He removed his face and fingers from her cunt, placed her foot back on the floor and stood up. Leaned in and kissed her fully on the mouth – tasting of her arousal – and reinserted his cold fingers deep inside her, thrusting hard, roughly pushing the heel of his hand against her clit. 

“Oh, oh…yes…” she moaned into his mouth and felt her cunt start clenching against his fingers. Felt her stomach muscles contract and the pleasure ripple through her body. She wrapped her hands around his neck, grasped his hair tightly in her fists, and groaned, “Nnnggghhh…” 

The thrusts of her hips slowed as Draco’s fingers caressed the soft skin of her swollen lips. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, licking the sweat off her skin, purring gently.

She heard a gasp from down the hall. 

Whoever it was had turned down the corridor and spotted them, Draco’s hand still very much up Hermione’s skirt. 

Her arms wrapped around him and her head leaned back against the wall, exposing her neck to Draco so he could lick and suck on it.

Hermione closed her eyes, unwilling to accept this moment was over. Not wanting Draco to stop the gentle caresses of his cool fingers through her folds, or the explorations of his tongue. 

She sighed. Opened her eyes and looked at the two students. It was the Greengrass sisters. 

Slytherins. 

She felt a strange sense of relief at that – like they wouldn’t be so quick to judge their star seeker and his exhibitionist girlfriend.

“Draco,” she sighed. “It’s Daphne and Astoria…”

He growled slightly, pulling his fingers out of her, and let her skirt fall. He turned around and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, and watched the two girls approach. They were both smiling mischievously.

“Ladies,” Draco said with a drawl as they neared. His tone was fun, almost flirtatious.

Hermione looked at him. At the grin on his face. Like he was challenging them to say something.

Fucking hell. 

He was having fun. 

The sisters both giggled. “Draco,” the eldest replied, and tilted her head in his direction. She looked at Hermione and greeted her, too, “Granger.”

“Hi,” Hermione replied shyly, her cheeks getting hot. She knew her chest and neck would be getting all splotchy.

She watched the sisters move down the corridor and around a bend, then looked at Draco. Pulled her hair to the side to cool herself off. “We really should be getting to class,” she said with reluctance.

He licked his lips while his eyes lingered on her neck, then nodded. “Yeah, I guess we should,” he said, then pushed off the wall and started walking.

“Draco,” Hermione skipped to catch up to him. Tugged on his sleeve. “I need my knickers,” she reminded him, a slight urgency in her tone.

He shook his head, a wicked little grin pulling at his lips. “Nah,” he replied, patting his pocket. “I’m going to keep them for now. You can have them back after Transfiguration.”

-

She did not get them back.

Hermione had to go to charms commando, feeling extremely exposed and self-conscious. Maybe a little over-sensitive – a little wanton. 

Maybe a lot.

Fuck.

She seriously had to spend some time thinking about what kind of person she was becoming as a result of Draco Malfoy.

But definitely not during class. 

Thinking of him caused a little thrill deep in her core that she quite simply could not afford to entertain while sitting pantless, her legs crossed tightly, in the middle of an advanced charms lesson. 

As soon as class was over she abandoned her friends and carefully ran up the many flights of stairs to Gryffindor Tower – really, she’d never noticed how draughty the castle was before – to fetch herself a fresh pair of knickers to make it through the rest of the day.

At lunch, Hermione discovered it was Lavender’s birthday. The girls were having a sleepover party that night in the seventh and eighth-year dorm room, and would be sneaking in a few girlfriends from other houses to join the fun. Attendance was mandatory, or so they said, and celebrations would begin as soon as Transfiguration was over.

This posed a slight problem for Hermione when Draco came and leaned on her desk at the end of class.

“You cheated,” he accused her.

“I’m sorry?” she asked, her face immediately clouding over. “I do not cheat.”

He smirked at her immediate defensiveness. Shook his head. “I was referring to your knickers,” he clarified.

“Oh,” Hermione’s face flushed. She looked around to check no one was listening, and found the class had already mostly emptied. “ You try walking around a draughty old castle with a bare arse. I don’t think you’d get very far.”

Draco let out a low laugh – almost a purr – as he fingered something in his pocket. 

Probably her knickers.

“I expect you’re right,” he admitted. “I’m sorry. That was unfair of me…it’s just…”

Hermione raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to go on.

He ran his hand over his face and looked down at his feet. “It’s just you smelled so bloody good without them…”

She stood up and walked around the desk so she was standing in front of him. Flicked his tie, and tried to reason with him. “It’s not like you can’t smell me otherwise…”

“That’s true,” he said, looking up at her. Frowning slightly. “I guess I just want as much of you as I can get. I want to gorge myself on you…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “After you called yourself my mate? Fuck, Hermione…I just…I completely lost it. I couldn’t think rationally to save my life. I just… wanted you. Desperately. Immediately. Completely.”  

Hermione reached out and pushed his fringe out of his eyes. Ran her thumb along his sharp cheekbone. “There’s no need to worry, Draco. No need for…for gluttony. I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here. I’m yours.”

His eyes darkened and he wrapped his hands around her waist. Pulled her close, and leaned in, sharing her breath. 

“Mine,” he whispered, then closed the gap between them and kissed her. His lips were soft and cool, but the kiss itself was harsh and possessive. His tongue demanded entry into her mouth, and explored with abandon. 

Like he wanted to conquer her.

He ran his hands around her waist and up her sides, his thumbs grazing her nipples. Hermione felt a little frisson of desire, and moaned into his mouth. 

He broke off and leaned his forehead on hers. “Spend the night with me?” he asked.

She took a deep breath, and ran her hands through the hair at the back of his head. 

“I really want to…” she told him, her voice tinged with regret.

“But?” 

“But…” she sighed, “it’s Lavender’s birthday. She’s having a…a slumber party, or something? It’s a whole thing. They’re sneaking Padma and Luna in, as well as Hannah and Susan. Maybe some others? I have to be there.”

Draco leaned back and tossed his head to get the fringe out of his eyes. “A slumber party?” he asked. “What is she? Twelve?”

Hermione shrugged. “It’s a slumber party with alcohol.”

“Right,” he nodded. “Okay.” He leaned down and kissed her again. Sucked on her lower lip, before pulling back and letting it pop out of his mouth. Backed off even as Hermione leaned in for more.

“Well, have fun, I guess…” He cocked his head. “I expect you’ll be feeling like shite in the morning. I’ll check on our potions’ temperature before heading into the forest with Hagrid.”

“Oh,” Hermione groaned, and dropped her head onto his chest. “I completely forgot you had detention.” 

It meant he’d be busy all day. All weekend. She’d barely see him. 

“Why don’t we meet up after?” she suggested. Looking up at him hopefully.

He pulled on a curl. “Let’s maybe play it by ear? I’m not sure when we’ll finish up…and then…”

“And then?”

“I have homework to do, Hermione. I may have been slacking a little in that department. I’ve been distracted,” he nudged her.

“N.E.W.T.s will be on us before you know it, Draco. You should definitely catch up.” She gave a quick definitive nod. “We’ll play it by ear, then.”

“I’ll find you, even if it’s just to say goodnight,” he promised, then pulled her in for a hug, burying his face in her hair.

-

Despite Hermione’s initial misgivings, Lavender’s birthday party was a lot of fun. 

After dinner in the Great Hall, they snuck five girls from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff into Gryffindor Tower. They spent the first part of the evening in the common room with the boys – listening to music, drinking, and chatting. Afterwards, they retired to the girl’s seventh and eighth-year dorm room, changed into their pyjamas, snacked on treats foraged from the kitchens, drank some more, did each other’s hair and makeup, gossiped, and played truth or dare. Well…mostly truth. 

It was a well known fact Gryffindors were complete idiots when it came to dares.

After someone asked a question, every single one of them had to answer it in turn, revealing such truths as first kisses, worst kisses, how many people everyone had kissed, how many people everyone had had sex with, best looking boys and girls at Hogwarts, and current crushes. 

There were some entirely surprising answers, as well as some very predictable ones.

Among the more surprising answers were: Padma Patil’s current crush was another girl – and a Slytherin, no less. Luna’s best kiss was Neville Longbottom, and Susan Bones had kissed the most people of anyone in the room. Apparently, she was rather affectionate when she got high behind the greenhouses.

Among the most predictable answers were that Ginny’s first crush had been Harry, that Lavender’s worst kiss had been Justin Finch-Fletchley – who they all now knew was gay – and that Draco was universally acknowledged as one of the best-looking boys at school. 

Every time his name came up, all eyes went to Hermione. All she could do was shrug – she thought he was the best-looking boy at school, too.

By about two or three in the morning, they started curling up in their beds – sharing with their invited guests – and going to sleep. Ruining hairdos and smudging made up faces.

-

When Hermione woke up the next morning, she felt awful. 

Her mouth tasted like carpet and she had a throbbing headache. Her hair – which had been tamed the previous night into a sleek chignon by Parvati – was loose and…everywhere. She could feel her eye makeup was also everywhere, and her eyelashes on her left eye stubbornly refused to part.

It was also late .

So late she’d missed breakfast in the Great Hall.

It didn’t matter. She didn’t think she could eat, anyway.

She got up slowly and held her head to help stop the room from spinning. It didn’t work. She held on nonetheless and tentatively made her way to the toilet. Every step she took reverberated through her entire body, and made her headache thunder in protest. She swayed, and grabbed on to the doorframe. Trailed her hand along the countertop to steady herself. 

She stared at the toilet for a moment, trying to decide how to use it. 

Did she need to vomit? She felt like she did. 

She took a deep breath and willed her body to settle down. Determined she would not, in fact, vomit – at least not immediately – and sat down to use it.

She took a long shower. Very long. Partly because she was moving so slowly, and partly because it felt so bloody good. The hot water was soothing, the steam helped clear her sinuses, and the whole process of getting clean made her feel slightly more human again.

When she got out, she discovered the Patil twins had attempted to convince Madam Pomfrey to give them sober-up potions, but had been immediately rebuffed. According to the matron, they’d all have to suffer for their overconsumption.

And suffer they did.

Hermione spent the day listlessly going about her studies. She went to the library. She did some reading in the common room. She checked on the potion – only to remember Draco had said he’d check that morning. He’d left her a note that everything was fine, and that she should go have a nap. 

How did he know she’d be feeling so poorly today? 

He’d probably smelled the alcohol on her from across the castle. She shook her head. She should be weirded out by his ability to smell her from anywhere in the school. To track her. Find her. 

But she wasn’t. 

Was it because he was her mate? Despite the fact she was still human, was there some deep-rooted biological imperative that he had awakened and that wanted him to be able to find and protect her at all times? 

It helped that he’d already done so. It came in handy.

Fuck. Thinking made her head hurt. 

She decided to take Draco’s advice and returned to Gryffindor Tower to lie down. She didn’t think she could sleep, but the thought of resting her eyes was glorious.

When she finally opened them, it was almost dinnertime.

Huh. She actually had napped.

And she was starving.

She had made her way through the mostly empty common room and out the portrait hole, then stopped short. 

Draco was leaning against the wall across from the Fat Lady, waiting for her, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“You look terrible,” he greeted her.

“I feel terrible,” she admitted.

He, on the other hand, looked incredible. He’d clearly just come in from the forest. His cheeks were ever so slightly pink from the outdoors, and his eyes were bright. Intense. Like he’d been hunting. 

He smiled wide at her response, and looked positively brilliant. 

He really was one of the best-looking boys in the school. 

She closed the distance between them to hug him. 

Or maybe to lean on him so she didn’t have to support her own weight. 

Either one.

He ran his hands up and down her back soothingly, leaned down to smell her hair, then buried his face in her neck, licking just below her ear. 

“I can taste the alcohol seeping out of you. You didn’t get a sober-up potion?” he asked.

Hermione shook her head. “Madam Pomfrey told us we’d all have to suffer.”

Draco backed up and looked at her with surprise. “You asked Pomfrey? Why the fuck would you do that?”

“I didn’t ask,” she clarified. “The Patil sisters did.” She frowned. “Where else would we get a sober-up potion?”

He shook his head and tsked, took her hand and started walking.

“Where are we going?” she asked, wincing slightly.

“To Slytherin. We’ve got tons of sober-up potions.” 

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks.

“How?”

He looked at her as though she were daft. “How? Because we’re not fucking idiots. When we get alcohol for a party, we also get sober-up potions for afterward.”

That…made a lot of sense. 

Hermione pouted and allowed Draco to lead her down to the castle dungeons, and into the Slytherin common room. He went into a cabinet and produced a small phial of rose-coloured liquid, handed it to her, and crossed his arms watching her drink it.

She immediately felt better.

“Next time, just come and ask for one,” he told her as he plucked the phial from her hand and disposed of it with a wave.

“You were busy,” she pointed out.

“I’m not the only Slytherin you know,” he told her. 

“You expect me to ask someone else?” The thought had really never occurred to her. 

Though she was discovering the Slytherins weren’t nearly as bad as she’d previously thought…they were still kind of scary. 

In theory, at least.

“Theo,” Draco suggested. “You could ask him. Or…Pansy. Or anyone on the quidditch team, except maybe Otto, he’s still a fucking bigot. Or anyone, really.” 

Hermione made a face. 

“I’m serious,” he said. 

She nodded, knowing full well she would never ask any of them. She decided to change the subject. “So, how was ‘detention’ today?”

Draco smiled and took her hand. “It was incredible, actually. Hagrid and I started off talking to the centaurs to get them on board with our plan to map out the forest and all the various territories. It didn’t take much convincing. They’ve also noticed the acromantula are expanding their territory, and aren’t particularly happy about it.” He led her out of the dungeons, and started towards the Great Hall. “Then, we mapped out a grid so we could approach everything systematically, and came up with a schedule of when to tackle each area based on time of day and when I’ll be helping Hagrid versus what he can do on his own.”

They stopped outside the Great Hall. “What do you mean? What can’t Hagrid do on his own?”

Draco shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Well,” he said slowly, then sucked on his teeth, thinking. “Hagrid shouldn’t venture anywhere too near the acromantula without me. They’ve become too aggressive.”

“And it’s okay for you to go near them?” she asked with alarm.

“It’s safer if I’m there, yeah.”

Hermione stared at him blankly.

“Hermione,” he sighed, “I can hear and smell them long before Hagird can. I can see better in the depths of the forest. I’m faster. I suspect I might be stronger. I can’t die as easily. It’s safer for him if I’m there.”

She suddenly hated the idea of this detention. Hated that he was so perfectly suited to help Hagrid with this project. 

“Okay, but just…” she hesitated. Ran her hand up his arm then cupped his chin. “Just be careful.”

“I will,” he said assuredly, then leaned down and kissed her.

-

Almost twenty-four hours later, Hermione was in the Great Hall eating her favourite meal of the week. Sunday night roast beef, with gravy, roast potatoes, assorted vegetables and yorkshire pudding. 

Only she wasn’t enjoying it. Not as much as usual, anyway.

She hadn’t seen Draco at all that day due to his detention. She didn’t know if he’d managed to finish his homework the night before, but had been hoping he’d at least pop by to say hello before dinner. 

He hadn’t shown up though. 

She assumed he and Hagrid were still out in the forest, taking advantage of the longer days and working until the very last vestiges of daylight had been spent.

But still.

She missed him.

As she contemplated how attached to Draco she was becoming and how to best to consume the last of the gravy on her plate – either another slice of roast beef or another portion of yorkshire pudding – her attention was drawn to the entrance of the Great Hall. Hagrid came in hurriedly, looking as if he was both agitated and also trying to appear calm. He walked straight down the centre of the hall to the raised dais where the professors ate. Spoke to Madam Pomfrey, who stood up immediately and rushed out of the room, abandoning her dinner. Then he turned and scanned the Gryffindor table. When he spotted Hermione, he made his way towards her.

Hermione’s heart started pounding in her chest. 

Something was wrong.

She pushed her plate away, her excess gravy forgotten, and watched Hagrid approach. Reached out to Harry, who was sitting next to her, and grabbed his hand.

“Hey!” he exclaimed. “I was eating with that…” but stopped talking when Hermione squeezed. Hard. 

She jerked her chin towards Hagrid who was now standing directly in front of her across the table, his hands wringing his hat.

“Hagrid?” she asked, her voice shaking.

“Ehh…” he hesitated. “Hermione, I think yeh’ should come wi’ me.” He looked down at her empty plate, then back up at her face. “Now.”

“What’s happened?” she asked, squeezing Harry’s hand even harder.

Hagrid tugged on his beard nervously, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “There’s ahh…” he looked at Harry, and then looked down the bench, filled with students. Many of whom were now watching him with curiosity. “There’s been an incident. Wi’ Draco. Durin’ his detention.” He frowned. “I think it’d be best if yeh come wi’ me.”

“What kind of incident?” she asked, standing up.

“I ehhh…” he looked at their audience. “I’ll explain on th’ way,” he concluded. Raised his eyebrows meaningfully. “We best get goin’.”

Hermione nodded, her heart pounding. It felt like it would explode from her chest. Her whole body felt numb. She had to make a conscious effort to release Harry’s hand. To focus on his words when he told her he’d wait right there until she got back to the castle. To stand up. To step over the bench, and to make her way to the end of the Great Hall where she could join Hagrid. 

To focus. To not black out. To place one foot in front of the other.

When they exited the Great Hall, they met Madam Pomfrey, already in her outdoor cloak and clutching her medical bag. She nodded at Hagrid, following him and Hermione to the school’s main entrance, and out into the grounds.

“Where are we going? What’s happened?” Hermione asked, only realising now that she didn’t have her outdoor robes or a coat. 

It didn’t matter. She was already numb.

“Yes, Hagrid, what’s happened?” Madam Pomfrey echoed.

Hagrid ran his hand over his face and tugged on his beard, his long stride difficult for the two women to keep up with. They somehow managed to keep up with him anyway.

“Well,” he started. “We’re headed into the forest.”

“Into the forest?” Madam Pomfrey repeated. “The Forbidden Forest?”

“Well…yeah,” Hagrid frowned. “Tha’s where Draco an’ I was workin’. Where we stumbled upon the acromantula who’ve expanded their territory again.”

“Wait, Hagrid.” Hermione grabbed Hagrid’s arm and stopped him. “Are you saying Draco’s had a run in with an acromantula?”

Hagrid looked down at Hermione and winced. 

“Not jus’ one.” He started walking again before he continued. “There was a whole pile of ‘em. Weavin’ their webs right inside the centaur’s territory, claimin’ it as their own.” He wrung his hands. “We thought we was safe. We were inside o’ centaur land. We should ha’ been safe. But there they were…at least half a dozen of ‘em.”

They quickly passed Hagrid’s hut and entered the outskirts of the forest.

“They looked at us, an’ started comin’ fer us. Draco, well, he stepped in front o’ me, and told me to go. Said he’d hold ‘em off. To go an’ fetch help. Said he could last longer than me against ‘em.”

A sob broke out of Hermione. She tried desperately to hold it back, but she was so worried. So scared. 

This was her mate he was talking about.

Hagrid stopped and took her by the shoulders. “He did, Hermione. He held ‘em off. He held ‘is own until I came back wi’ the centaurs an’ drove those bloody spiders away. It’s jus’…” he grimaced, “...it’s jus’ he’s hurt.”

“Hurt how?” Madam Pomfrey interjected.

They started walking again, Hagrid leading the way.

“Best way to describe it?” Hagrid hesitated, considering his words. His brows pulled together and he finally landed on, “He’s chewed up.” 

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. She lost her breath and her footing, stumbling on a root. Fell and scraped her knee. Hagrid helped her up, then kept hold of her hand as he led her into the depths of the forest.

It seemed to take forever.

Hermione’s insides were twisted into knots, her breaths coming out in short gasps. She was scared for Draco. Scared of the fucking forest, and its looming overcrowded trees that pulled and scratched at her skin and made it so bloody dark. 

Scared of what they might encounter in that darkness. 

But brewing beneath the surface of all this fear was something else. Something quite surprising. Unexpected. 

Anger. 

Hermione was angry.

Angry that the acromantula were disrespecting Aragog’s entente with Hagrid. Angry that they were expanding their territory. Angry that the school thought it appropriate for only two people – two rather exceptional and well-suited people, but two people all the same – to take on this project of mapping out the forest while aggressive acromantula were about. Angry at Draco for putting himself in harm's way, and angry at herself for always being so bloody scared all the time.

The war had changed her. 

Scared her. 

Once it was over, she’d told herself she didn’t need to be brave anymore. That she’d done her part, and she could just be normal, thank you very much. 

Normal people didn’t take on Dark Lords. Normal people weren’t expected to sacrifice themselves or their friends.

But nothing in her life had ever been normal.

Not then, and definitely not now. 

Now, she’d mated with a zombie. 

Normal was clearly not in the cards for her.

She gritted her teeth, steeling herself for what was to come. What she was about to see. Draco needed her. He would need her to be strong. To help him. To fight for him. 

Because if their experience in McGonagall’s office was any indication, the school had him here begrudgingly at best – looking for a reason to be done with him at worst. 

He was an unknown variable. The only one of his kind. 

And people like McGonagall didn’t like unknowns. Especially ones with the strength to crack open a human skull.

And whose last name happened to be Malfoy. 

The magical community was not currently inclined to give a Malfoy a break. Most of them were convinced two out of three of them had gotten off too easily. That they deserved to suffer more.

She was afraid the headmistress might be among them.

She saw the centaurs first. Two of them were standing guard at what appeared to be a clearing. As they approached, the centaurs nodded gravely to Hagrid, the one on the left saying, “It has been quiet since you left. Your friend remains largely the same.” 

The centaurs moved aside, providing Hermione an unobstructed view of the clearing.

It was large. Almost perfectly round and blanketed in snowdrops, creating what looked like a fluffy white carpet that swayed with the wind. Many, however, were stained red. 

Hermione scanned the area, taking in about a dozen other centaurs – ever so tall and majestic – standing around the perimeter. Keeping guard, their bows strung and at the ready. 

Next, she took in the acromantula.

Or rather, what remained of them. 

The massive eight-legged spiders were strewn about the clearing. All dead. Their large hairy bodies motionless. Their legs splayed haphazardly. 

Four of them appeared to have been downed by arrows. The remaining five had been…ripped apart. Legs torn off, and pincers pulled apart. Skulls cracked open.

Draco had killed them.

With his bare hands.

But where was he? She rushed into the middle of the clearing, spinning around. Scanning the ground. Looking desperately for him. Looking for a depression in the flowers. A rising sense of panic threatening to overwhelm her. 

She swallowed it down.

She needed to find him.

She slowed down and took a deep breath. Examining the ground more carefully…and spotted him – towards the back on the right of the clearing. So white he blended in with the snowdrops. Gashes of red all over.

She ran towards him.

“I’ve found him!” she shouted over her shoulder to Madam Pomfrey, who’d been hanging back.

“Don’t touch him, Miss Granger,” the school matron told her, following slowly. “His blood is dangerous!”

Hermione nodded absentmindedly and dropped to her knees when she reached him, the snowdrops enveloping her legs. She leaned over to look at him, careful not to touch him.

Draco’s skin was chalky white. Gashes large and small covered his entire body – some mere scratches, but most cut through his flesh, penetrating muscle and sinew, and in some cases reaching to the bone. He’d lost a lot of blood, and was lying in a puddle of it. His skin was sunken and almost translucent, highlighting the blue of his veins underneath.

He looked…

Well.

He looked like a zombie.

Only he wasn’t moving.

Hermione leaned in closer, trying to detect if he was breathing. Trying to see if his chest was even moving. If she could feel his cool breath. 

But she couldn’t find any sign he was alive.

Tears, unbidden, started falling as she looked helplessly down at him. Madam Pomfrey, who had only just reached them, began to slowly pull on a large pair of thick rubber gloves and arduously don what looked like a magical hazmat suit. It hovered just above her skin, like glowing gold filaments. 

Hermione looked back at Draco. Desperate to touch him.

“You are his mate?” A gentle voice asked from above them.

Hermione looked up over her shoulder to find that the centaur stationed nearest Draco had come to stand next to her. 

She nodded. Pushed her hair back. “I am,” she replied, her voice shaking.

“You are not of his kind,” he observed without judgement.

“I am not,” she confirmed.

The centaur drew his brows together and pawed at the ground. “His body works efficiently. Saving its energy. He takes a breath once every few minutes––”

“You’ve seen it?” she interrupted, desperate for some confirmation that Draco was alive.

“I have,” the centaur replied. “I have also observed his wounds…” he tilted his head towards Draco’s body. “They stitch themselves back together, but the progress is infinitesimally small. There are too many of them.”

Hermione looked back at Draco, then up at the matron, who had finally got herself organised, and had begun to cast diagnostic spells, full of colours and readings. 

She didn’t understand them, so she focused on Draco. Watching his chest impatiently.

Just as Madam Pomfrey tsked, “Honestly, according to these readings he’s already dead,” Draco’s chest expanded. His lungs rattled as he sucked in a single breath of air, the sound of it hissing through the various punctures in his windpipe and lungs.

His nostrils flared, and his brows drew together ever so slightly. His head tilted towards Hermione, ever so slightly. 

“He knows you are here,” the centaur whispered. 

Hermione wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand, and sat back on her feet. “I’m here, Draco,” she said quietly. “I’m right beside you…I…I…” she looked across him to see Madam Pomfrey going through her medical bag. “I wish I could touch you,” she told him.

Draco’s eyelids didn’t open, but fluttered slightly. The fingers closest to her twitched.

“Mr. Malfoy,” the matron began, “I am going to attempt to stabilise you before we move and bring you to the castle.” She pulled out a phial and unstoppered it. “We’ll start with a blood replenishing potion.” 

Hermione couldn’t help wondering if it was worth replenishing his blood when he still had so many open, bleeding wounds. 

The matron reached forward, propped his head up with one of her gloved hands, and held the phial to his lips with the other. Teased them open, and poured the dark red liquid into Draco’s mouth. Some of it trickled down his chin, blending with the brighter red of the blood he’d lost. But some of it did make it in. Hermione saw him swallow. Saw his Adam’s apple bob. All was still for a moment.

Then he started convulsing. 

Draco’s eyes opened – instead of the luminous blue Hermione had been expecting – they were glowing red. Piercing. Flaming. Bright. 

Madam Pomfrey gasped as he turned towards her, raised himself on his elbow and vomited her potion onto the ground. Retching and coughing until every last drop had been expelled from his body. Then he breathed a deep, raspy breath, and fell down onto his back. He licked his lips and turned towards Hermione. Looked at her intently with his burning red eyes.

He took another ragged breath and frowned slightly at her.

“I’m not close enough, am I?” she asked. Hermione leaned over him pulling her hair to the side.

“Miss Granger,” Madam Pomfrey exclaimed as she once again began examining the contents of her bag. “May I remind you to keep your distance! What on earth are you doing?”

“I’m being careful,” she told the matron. “But I need to be closer so Draco can smell me,” she explained matter-of-factly.

“Smell you?” Madam Pomfrey replied with shock.

“As his mate, the young woman’s scent will soothe him,” the centaur provided. Hermione had all but forgotten he was there. She looked up at him gratefully and nodded her agreement before shifting closer to Draco.

“Miss Granger…” the matron said, her tone a warning.

“I’m being careful,” she repeated with irritation, and then to Draco, asked, “Is that better?”

He blinked in response, keeping his eyes trained on her. Rattled in another breath and attempted to speak. Something looked off with his jaw. She could hear bone scraping as he tried to move it. “Hhhhaaagg….?” was all he managed to gasp out, looking frustrated. Pained.

“Hagrid is safe,” she assured him, nodding. “Completely fine. He’s talking to the centaurs right now.”

Draco closed his eyes. Looked for all intents and purposes to be dead. Again. 

Hermione looked back at Madam Pomfrey, who was pulling another phial out of her bag.

“Let’s try a Wiggenweld potion,” she suggested. “It should help as I start working on closing up some of these larger wounds.” 

Again, the matron tipped Draco’s head and poured the potion down his throat. Faster than the last time his body immediately rejected it. Draco rasped, trying to recover.

“Madam Pomfrey, the potions seem to be doing more harm than good,” Hermione said worriedly, watching Draco’s chest rise and fall rapidly in short little breaths. Panting. He didn’t appear to be conserving energy or breathing efficiently anymore.

The matron bit her lips, thinking. “We’ll try a topical treatment and spells instead.” She pulled a jar of compounded Dittany out of her bag, then frowned. Draco had so many wounds, it didn’t seem practical. She’d have to smear it over his entire body – the lower half of which was covered in ripped webbing and would have to be thoroughly cleaned, first. The spiders had obviously tried to bind him, but he’d managed to break through their strong silk webs. 

Madam Pomfrey shook her head, clearly coming to the same conclusion, and put the dittany away, pulling out her wand instead and beginning to sing Vulnera Sanentur. 

Hermione watched Draco’s wounds intently, looking for any sign of healing.

There was none.

She looked at Madam Pomfrey who appeared equally frustrated. 

Nothing was working. 

The matron shook her head, and sighed. “I’ll have to place a stasis charm on him and bring him back to the hospital wing. I’ll Floo call St. Mungo’s and confer with them to see if they have any idea what to do.” She shrugged. “Miss Granger, I’ll need you to step away.” 

Hermione gave Draco a nod then pushed up onto her feet. She watched with worry as Madam Pomfrey began casting, creating something very similar to the golden woven protection she had applied to herself earlier. Only instead of settling against Draco’s skin it formed a cylinder, or tube, that encased him. The whole thing was levitated, with Draco safely inside, the blood from his wounds pooling around him, but not escaping.

“Hagrid?” Madam Pomfrey called. “Lead the way, please.”

Hagrid came over and frowned. “He’s no’ healed…” he said with some degree of confusion.

The matron looked at him crossly. “I appear unable to perform any restorative medical treatments here in the forest,” she explained. “I need my books, and to consult with St. Mungo’s.”

Hagrid nodded. “Well, we best get goin’ then.” He made his way out of the clearing and back into the forest. Draco’s levitated body came next with Madam Pomfrey controlling it, and Hermione brought up the rear. 

As she waded through the last of the snowdrops, the centaur that had been watching over Draco cleared his throat. She turned around, and looked up at him. His face was kind. He bent down to her level, and spoke softly, “Your mate was mending his wounds on his own before the healer came. Just…very slowly. His body knows what to do…but it lacks…the support to do so.” Then he stood up tall and walked away, joining his companions.

Hermione nodded in thanks, and ran to catch up with the others.

-

The most direct route to the hospital wing was through the school’s main entrance, which meant walking past the Great Hall. Though dinner was over there were always hangers on, especially students from different houses who didn’t share a common room.

There was no avoiding it.

Hagrid was not subtle, and made quite the spectacle as he ensured the hallway was clear for Madam Pomfrey and Draco in his floating barrier chamber. They paused, as luck would have it, right in front of the doors to the hall while he shooed a group of first years out of the way. 

Hermione stood next to Draco watching him carefully through the golden glow, looking for any sign of change. Without Madam Pomfrey’s… attentions …he seemed to have stabilised once more. Barely breathing. Barely moving. Looking completely lifeless. 

A single breath taken about once every minute and a half the only sign he wasn’t dead.

She’d been counting. 

She wished she could touch him. Hold his hand. Or maybe his wrist so she could monitor his pulse.

She spared a glance into the Great Hall and saw Harry and Ginny coming towards her, looking concerned. Neville, Luna, Lavender, the Patils and a few others were still seated at the Gryffindor table, watching with interest. She took a deep breath, and glanced back at Draco. At how inhuman he looked. Otherworldly. She clenched her jaw, and looked back up as her friends arrived.

“Hermione, what’s going on?” Harry asked, his face full of concern.

Hermione clenched her fists, digging her fingernails into the palms of her hands. Trying to keep it together. She licked her lips and replied, “There’s been an incident.” She was surprised how steady her voice was.

Ginny came straight to her side and took her hand, but Harry went to look at the glowing stasis chamber. “Is that Malfoy?” he asked, his voice full of shock.

Hermione bit her lips and nodded.

He leaned over to take a closer look. “He looks…” he hesitated a moment. “Hermione, he looks dead.”

“He’s not dead,” she told him.

Ginny maintained her grip on Hermione’s hand, and held on to her arm as well, as they both watched Harry examine Draco’s lifeless form.

“Hermione…he’s completely torn up…”

“He’s not dead, Harry,” she insisted. “Just watch…”

“What am I looking for?”

Hermione shook her head at Harry and looked around, trying to determine what the hold up was. Why weren’t they moving? The headmistress had joined them and appeared to be in discussion with Madam Pomfrey. Hermione sighed. She couldn’t help noticing how nobody was in a hurry. Nobody seemed to consider this an emergency.

“Madam Pomfrey?” she interrupted. “Shouldn’t we get Draco to the hospital wing?”

“Yes, Miss Granger,” the matron replied irritatedly. “I was just giving the headmistress a summary, as she will reach out to St. Mungo’s while I attend to Mr. Malfoy.”

Hermione sighed again, and looked at Harry. 

She was so tired. So anxious. 

Why weren’t they moving?!

“What am I looking for?” he repeated.

She looked at Draco and pointed as his chest expanded and a single breath rattled through his punctured lungs.

“That,” she replied, feeling equal parts relief at seeing that breath, as well as equal parts dread at having to explain it.

Harry’s eyes went wide. 

“What’s going on, Hermione? Why is he like this? Why does he look like that? What did this to him? How is he even alive? ”

“Harry, maybe now is not the time,” Ginny said gently.

“No, Ginny,” he insisted. “Anyone who looks like this should be dead. What’s going on, Hermione? I don’t understand…”

The stasis chamber started moving again as Hagrid and Madam Pomfrey made their way up the stairs. Harry continued to look at Hermione with confusion. Hoping for answers to explain the impossible state Draco was in.

“I can’t explain right now, Harry. I just…I…I can’t.” 

She rushed ahead to take her place next to Draco. She had a vague sense that Harry and Ginny were behind her, following them. That Ginny was saying something. 

But she didn’t hear it. Didn’t hear anything. 

Her whole focus was on her mate. On watching those intermittent ragged breaths. 

On getting to the hospital wing. 

-

Once in the hospital, a set of curtains were set up around a bed and Draco positioned on top of it. Madam Pomfrey looked surprised to see Harry and Ginny there, but as they’d stationed themselves next to Hermione and each took one of her hands, her face softened, and she allowed them to remain. She looked at each and every single person present, and spoke very slowly. 

“Now this is very important. When I remove the barrier charm from Mr. Malfoy, it is imperative that none of you come into contact with his blood. It is highly contagious. Understood?”

Hermione could feel Harry and Ginny look at her before telling the matron they understood.

Madam Pomfrey began to carefully remove the charm from Draco’s body, peeling it back in layers like an onion. 

Harry squeezed Hermione’s hand, leaned over and whispered in her ear, “What did she mean by Malfoy is…contagious?”

Hermione shook her head. “He’s not contagious, Harry. Just his blood.” She hesitated a moment, before adding, “We think.”

“You think ?” Harry asked in wonder as the last layers were removed, and Draco became completely visible. Unobstructed by the golden glow of the barrier. 

Inside the hospital wing, by the light of the flames in the sconces and oil lamps, Draco looked even worse than he had lying in his bed of snowdrops in the Forbidden Forest. His wounds appeared deeper and far more numerous. His skin whiter, more sunken and semi-transparent. His veins stood out more. Bone was visible in several locations. Organs, too – clearly damaged. 

It was no wonder Harry had been so shocked and confused.

Madam Pomfrey cast a diagnostic, and then began to systematically go through her repertoire of healing spells, one after the other. Targeting them to Draco’s whole body, and to individual areas. 

All to no avail. 

She tried pastes and compounds to no effect.

She poured more potions down his throat, but he wouldn’t even swallow them. Instinctively spitting them out and letting them dribble down his chin and neck, preferring to avoid the havoc that vomiting them back up caused his body.

“I don’t understand,” Madam Pomfrey muttered as she paced back and forth in front of Draco’s bed. “These should work. It shouldn’t matter that he’s infected…they work on other hybrids. They should work on any living creature.”

Hermione looked up suddenly. 

She let go of Harry and Ginny’s hands and stepped forward.

“That’s it!” she cried out. “None of them will work on him, Madam Pomfrey…they’re not meant to. As you said, they should work on any living creature…”

The matron looked at her with wide eyes. “What are you saying, Miss Granger?”

“Draco died as part of his transformation…”

“He what ?” Harry asked from behind her.

Hermione waved him away, and continued on, “He’s not technically alive in the same way the rest of us are. He’s…” she searched for the right word, “...he’s reanimated.” She looked at Draco and smiled. “The centaur said his body knew what to do. That he’d seen it stitching itself back together again, but by infinitesimally small amounts. He said Draco didn’t have what he needed for it to go faster.” She looked around the room, her eyes bright. “Don’t you see?!” she asked. “He needs fuel. He needs energy.” 

She looked at her mate, feeling confident now she knew exactly how to help him. 

“He needs to eat,” she concluded.

Madam Pomfrey frowned. “How could he possibly eat in this state?”

“How can he even be alive?” Hermione countered. “Look at him…he took on, what?” she looked at Hagrid. “Five or six acromantula by himself? ” Hagrid nodded in confirmation as Harry and Ginny expressed their shock and surprise behind her. 

“His body will know what to do, Madam Pomfrey. I know it will. You have to call Gilly.” 

Chapter Text

Draco could hear Hermione’s voice talking in the background, but it was muffled. The words were unclear, and he struggled to make them out. Couldn’t make them out. It was as if he had his head underwater. Or underground. Or maybe like his eardrums had ruptured. 

Take your pick.

He couldn’t focus on it, anyway. 

His objective, his entire being, was focused on one thing, and one thing only. 

Not dying.

It was a different feeling. One he’d never experienced before. Not like this, at least. It felt like his senses had all been heightened to the nth degree, and yet each and every one of them was failing. Damaged. Broken.

By those giant fucking spiders.

Fuck.

He knew he’d told Hermione he didn’t feel as much anymore, unless it was in the moment. 

But in that moment? 

When he’d told Hagrid to go get help and stepped between him and the acromantula? 

Draco could honestly say he’d never been more terrified in his entire life…or in his death. It felt as if he had fought them off by sheer willpower alone because, really, there hadn’t been any other choice. 

He felt them binding him with their strong silk webs, tearing through his flesh, breaking bone and puncturing his internal organs with their teeth. Biting with their pincers and flooding his veins with their venom. And through it all he had one thought only.

Survive .

Magic didn’t work. 

It just didn’t come naturally to him anymore. 

Not in a crisis, at least. 

He had let his creature instincts take over and fought with his bare hands. 

When they wove their webs around him, he tore them apart. When they came in to bite him, he grabbed hold of their pincers and ripped them off. Dug into their eye sockets, their mouths, wherever he could get a grip, and did what he knew he was made to do. 

Break bones. 

Crack open skulls. 

Pull out their brains — or damage them at least.

He did not eat them.

He only craved human brains.

Human brains.

Fuck , what he wouldn’t give to eat right now. 

He was starving. 

Ravenous. 

His whole body was screaming at him to find sustenance so he could heal himself, only he didn’t have the energy to move. Everything was focused on taking that one breath every minute or so. On ensuring what little blood he had left continued to circulate through his body. On feeling his heart beat slower than it ever had done before. 

But it was still beating and that’s what was most important right now.

That, and Hermione.

Had he been able to, he would have wept when he smelled her in the clearing. When she leaned over him and pulled aside her hair, letting him smell her better. 

And now here she was, that underwater voice of hers sounding incomprehensible, but the tone crystal clear. She’d figured something out. It had that swotty know-it-all intonation he loved so much. He didn’t need to know what she was saying — he knew she was telling everyone what to do.

She’d figure it out. 

He knew she would. 

She was his mate, and he trusted her implicitly. 

With his life. 

His heart .

Draco didn’t know if mating with someone was the same as loving them, but it felt the same to him. He was one hundred percent, without a doubt, unequivocally in love with Hermione. It was one of the only things he felt at all times, regardless if she was present or not. 

The intensity of it was overwhelming. 

He would do anything. Say anything. Fight or kill anything. Just to be near her. To be with her. To keep her safe and call her his mate.

And right now that meant staying alive.

He dragged in a ragged breath. He felt the air escaping – hissing through his punctured lungs. Felt they weren’t filling completely. But somehow it was enough. Somehow this body of his could endure…well, it seemed like it could endure just about anything.

It hurt though.

Fuck, it hurt . 

Every last inch of him was in pain. Burning. Searing. Screaming. In need of healing. His skin was torn and bruised, his bones broken, his organs damaged. The only thing that seemed to be intact and unharmed was his brain. Which, he believed, was really the only thing he needed to stay alive. So long as his brain was unharmed, his body would persevere. Find a way. Live. Or at the very least remain animate .

A living corpse.

An…inferius.

He heard the loud ‘CRACK’ of a house elf apparating. Underwater voices. Another crack.

Salazar fucking Slytherin his head was pounding. He wished everyone would just go away. Everyone but Hermione – he wished she would come closer, so he could smell her better. His sense of smell seemed somehow lessened. Like his body was too busy trying not to die to bother sending the right olfactory signals to his brain. Like maybe his nose was missing, or––

There was another crack.

Bloody fucking hell.  

Draco’s nostrils flared and his eyes shot wide open – his vision tinged red. He abruptly sat up straight in his hospital bed and turned, swinging his legs over the side.

He smelled brains.

He scanned the area, his eyes passing over Hagrid, Pomfrey, fucking Potter and his redhead girlfriend, Gilly, and the most beautiful sight he could ever imagine – Hermione. She wore those shoulder-length gloves the matron had been wearing in the clearing, and held a plate with half a brain on it. Her mouth was moving, but he couldn’t make out the words. She still sounded like she was underwater. He couldn’t focus enough to try reading her lips. 

He stood up. 

Took a step towards her. 

His movements were jerky and uncoordinated. 

He could feel bones grinding together. Protesting. 

His left foot dragged.

He didn’t care. 

He moved by sheer willpower alone. Desperate to get what his body needed to heal itself.

Draco closed the space between them and stopped. Swayed slightly. Hermione reached out a hand and placed it on his side, steadying him. She looked up at him and spoke again. Muffled. He frowned. At least, he thought he did. 

He suddenly realised that maybe half his face was gone.

She let go of him for a moment and placed her hand next to her ear. Looking at him inquisitively, asking if he could hear. 

He shook his head. Or at least he tried to, but wasn’t entirely sure if he succeeded.

She moved her hand to her mouth and mimed eating, then returned her hand to his side to steady him. 

He’d been drifting to the left.

He breathed deeply. Salivating. He felt a loud growl rumble out of his chest unbidden. Heard muffled shouts from those around them. 

Hermione turned and said something – her voice chastising – then looked back at him encouragingly.

He didn’t think he could pick up the brain and bring it to his mouth. Didn’t have the dexterity. The fine motor skills. Didn’t know if he could make his hands or arms work the way he wanted them to. 

Hermione seemed to sense his hesitation – his problem – and she raised the plate higher. 

He caught her eye, desperately worried that whatever she was seeing in him at this moment would disgust her. That she would be abhorred by the reality of what he was. 

Practically an inferius.

A zombie.

A monster .

But all he saw in her look was….acceptance. Concern. Affection. 

Maybe love?

Fuck it.

There was no avoiding it.

He reached up slowly, his arms not moving entirely the way he wanted them to, and concentrated hard to hold on to Hermione’s upper arms for support – careful to only touch where she was protected by the excessively long gloves. Then he bent his head down to the plate, and opened his mouth with difficulty – his jaw clicking, then hanging open slightly, feeling misaligned. He forced himself to take a bite. To close his mouth. To chew.

It was an explosion of everything he had ever needed and wanted on his tongue. 

He groaned, taking another bite. 

And then another. 

His jaw clicked and protested until he was about halfway through eating the brain when it finally seemed to realign. He let go of Hermione and stood up straighter, his balance and coordination already improving. He took the remaining brain in hand and brought it to his mouth, eating voraciously. Licking his fingers when he was finished. 

He looked at Hermione, and croaked out, “More…”

Hermione looked at Gilly and the house elf immediately disapparated.

Draco took a deep breath. Felt himself sway towards Hermione. Towards her scent. Heard voices, but still couldn’t make out the words. He was still unsteady. Felt like he might topple onto her. He backed up and dropped himself on the edge of the bed, landing hard. 

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing. On his heartbeat. On feeling his body regenerate and stitch itself back together again.

He tried hard not to think about his audience. About the murmuring he could hear all around him but still couldn’t make out. 

He had a vague sense of Madam Pomfrey coming close and casting a diagnostic charm over him. Of the colourful readings it created. When he glanced up, they were all in shades of red which he knew shouldn’t be the case. He couldn’t figure out why his vision was different. Vignetted in blood.

There was another crack. Gilly exchanged plates with Hermione. She came and stood in front of him and held the plate out like an offering.

He looked up at her for a moment, tilted his chin slightly downward in what he hoped came across as a nod of thanks and took the brain. Ate it quickly. Felt increasingly himself. 

Slowly, the red vignette receded, and his vision cleared.

“More?” Hermione asked.

Draco looked up in surprise. 

He’d heard that. 

A smile – or quite possibly a grimace – broke out across his face, which he could actually feel now. He nodded. “More,” he confirmed.

Gilly disapparated to the kitchens again.

“You’re looking better,” Hermione told him. Hovering near. Reaching out tentatively, but not touching him.

Before Draco could respond, the school matron was between them, examining him. “It’s really rather remarkable,” she said to no one in particular. “It’s as if his eyes are a reflection of the state of his health. Now it’s improving…now he’s no longer in danger…they’re back to blue.”

Draco frowned. “What were they before?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“They’d gone red, Draco,” Hermione said softly from beside Madam Pomfrey. Looking at him with…what was that expression? Relief? Awe? Fear? 

He didn’t know.

He really wished everyone but Hermione would just go away.  

Hagrid, who’d been hovering in the background looking worried and conflicted, stepped closer and pulled on his beard. “Thank Merlin yer’ doin’ better Draco,” he mumbled out. “Yeh’ had us all worried there fer a moment.” He looked at his feet. “I canna think wha’ would ha’ happened if yeh weren’t there.” He looked back up at Draco, his eyes watery. “I owe yeh my life, Draco. Thank yeh.” 

Hagrid cleared his throat. Looked desperately like he needed something to do.

“Right, then,” he continued. “I’ll go let Headmistress McGonagall know yer outta the woods…” he cocked his head, “...in all senses, tha’ is.”

Draco honestly didn’t think the headmistress would give a fuck, but nodded to his friend, and watched him go.

They would talk later. There was…lots to discuss about the Forbidden Forest. About what had happened. About what would happen now the acromantula were moving into centaur territory. Now there’d been an encounter. 

Bloodshed. 

Gilly returned with another brain, only instead of giving it to Hermione – who had been pulled back by Potter and his redhead and in deep discussion – she tentatively approached Draco and gave it to him herself. Seemingly no longer fearful of his appearance. He ate it while Pomfrey buzzed around him, scribbling in a notebook. Casting more diagnostics. 

She was irritating.

“Do you mind?” he finally growled. 

Literally. 

He hadn’t meant it to come out so aggressive, but honest to gods, she was bothersome. He was trying to eat. To heal himself. Something she’d been completely ineffective at. As far as he was concerned, she was in his way. An impediment. Unnecessary at this point. Superfluous.

The matron’s eyes went wide, and she bristled. Said something about properly recording everything that had happened while it was still fresh in her mind so she could share the information with St. Mungo’s, who Draco knew were equally useless. Besides declaring him dead, they’d done nothing to help him since his transformation, apart from omitting the cause of it from his official paperwork. He felt another rumble leave his chest, before the matron left his bedside, and returned to her office, tsking the whole way.

Gilly looked up at him as he finished his brain and tugged on her ear. “More, Mr. Draco?” she asked tentatively. 

Draco shook his head. “No Gilly, I think I’m good.” He smiled at the house elf. “Thank you.”

She smiled back and leaned forward conspiratorially. “You is looking much less scary now, Mr. Draco. Gilly is happy she is being of help.” Then she backed up and disapparated. 

Draco ran his hand over his face. Took in a deep breath – felt his lungs properly fill – and let it out slowly. Leaned his elbows on his knees and looked over at Hermione as she continued to speak to Potter and the Weasley girl in some animated discussion he couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to.

Despite the fact he was doing better, he still felt terrible . 

He was completely exhausted, which was something he wasn’t used to. And he felt…well, he felt gross. He was caked in dried blood, dirt and webbing, and his clothes were torn. He sat up straight and ran his hands along his thighs, catching in the holes in his trousers. Looked around himself. Spotted a hospital gown on the nightstand. He stood up, grabbed it, and made towards the hospital wing washroom.

“Draco?” Hermione asked as she tried to peel herself away from her friends.

He shook his head and waved her away. “I’m just washing up,” he told her. He honestly didn’t want her anywhere near him at the moment. She was covered in scratches from the forest, and he was covered in blood. 

The risk of infecting her was too great.

-

When Draco came out of the washroom, he felt a lot more human. 

Which was ironic because he wasn’t human at all. Not anymore. 

He felt a little foolish, in just a hospital gown and a pair of equally lightweight bottoms he’d found, but he was clean. He had eaten. He was healed. And all he really wanted to do right now was hold Hermione. 

Smell her. 

Taste her. 

She was still talking to Potter and the Weasley girl. From the sounds of it, she was describing what she’d found in the forest clearing earlier. 

How she’d found him.

He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her middle, beginning to hum his usual litany of healing charms. She placed her hands over his and leaned back into his chest, making it easier for him to lean over her shoulder and watch as the scratches on her cheek healed. As the small gash on her forehead disappeared.

“Draco,” she breathed out, running her hands along his forearms. “How do you feel?”

“Pretty good,” he replied honestly, squeezing her slightly. Dipping his face into her hair, to breathe her in.

“I hope it’s okay, but…” she twisted slightly to look up at him over her shoulder. “I told Harry and Ginny about…about you.”

Draco glanced up at Potter and scowled ever so slightly. “I think after tonight, it was probably inevitable.”

“So it’s true?” Potter asked. “You’re a…a…”

“Hybrid,” Draco finished for him.

“A zombie hybrid?” the redhead asked.

Draco dipped his head in acknowledgement. Buried his face in Hermione’s curls and inhaled.

Potter shook his head. “But is that…is that safe? Are you safe? I mean…to be here? At Hogwarts?”

Draco looked up and scoffed slightly. “Have you heard of any students turning up dead this year? Their brains missing?” 

Potter frowned. “No…”

“Then I think it’s probably safe,” Draco concluded with a slight sneer. Leaned down and sniffed Hermione’s neck. 

“But if you couldn’t get your…your…food elsewhere,” Potter continued, “...the whole school could be at risk.”

“Harry,” Hermione interjected, “it’s not like that. It’s not like Draco misses a meal, and then is suddenly hunting our classmates for dinner. From what St. Mungo’s said, it’d take quite a while for him to turn feral––”

“ Feral ?!” Harry exclaimed. “He can go feral?”

“Harry…” the she-weasel laid a calming hand on Potter’s arm. He shook it off, though, seeming on edge. Ready to jump to action, or something equally heroic and idiotic.

Draco stood up straight. Cracked his neck and narrowed his eyes. “Potter. Not everyone is as lucky as you. Most people who die and come back to life don’t come back as saviours. They come back as monsters.”

Hermione pulled away so she could turn around and face him. “You’re not a monster, Draco…”

“Aren’t I?” he asked with a frown. “Hermione, I don’t sweet talk you before getting close to you, I heal you. For fear of infecting you. I–”

“He’s infectious, too?” Potter blurted out.

“Harry, weren’t you listening to Madam Pomfrey earlier?” the redhead asked.

“Yeah, but…I thought that was just his blood.”

“And it might be,” Hermione declared, then tilted her head to the side. “Or it might not be. We don’t know for sure,” she admitted with a shrug. 

The redhead looked at Hermione, to Draco, and back again. “So you two haven’t…”

“No,” Hermione shook her head, and ran her hand up and down Draco’s arm. “We’re still figuring things out. Bit by bit.”

“But Ron said…” Potter started.

“Weasley is an idiot,” Draco interrupted with a snarl.

“We do other things,” Hermione said at the same time.

“What kinds of things?” the redhead asked curiously.

At the same time Potter grimaced, saying, “Hermione please, I don’t want to know what you two do…” 

Draco rolled his eyes. Grabbed Hermione’s hand and pulled her back into his arms. Buried his face in her hair. 

She smelled so bloody good.

The weaslette considered the two of them. “You’re very tactile…very big into how she smells, aren’t you?” she asked, watching him with fascination.

“Mmmhmm,” Draco replied, holding Hermione closer with one arm while moving her hair out of the way with the other and leaning in to smell her neck. Hermione’s breath hitched ever so slightly as Draco’s lips brushed against her skin. 

She cleared her throat. “The way Hagrid put it, Draco is more creature than human now.”

Draco looked up suddenly. “Which is why you two need to keep everything you saw and heard tonight to yourselves. You get how important that is, right?”

Potter’s brows drew together, but he nodded. Ran his hand through his messy hair. “Yeah,” he finally said. “It wouldn’t be good if word got out.”

“It wouldn’t,” Draco confirmed.

“We won’t say anything,” the she-weasel assured them. “To anyone.”

“Including Ron,” Hermione added. “That won’t be a problem, will it?”

“No,” Potter said, shaking his head. “It won’t be...I…already don’t bring you up in conversation, he’s…”

“He’s what?” Draco asked, holding on to Hermione tighter. 

Possessively.

Potter grimaced. “He’s not reasonable.”

-

It wasn’t long before Madam Pomfrey came out and tried to shoo everyone who wasn’t Draco away so he could get some sleep. 

She was only marginally successful. 

Though Draco wasn’t convinced he even needed to stay in the hospital wing overnight, he insisted he’d rest better if Hermione was nearby. If he could smell her near him.

Hermione helpfully noted that even the centaur had said Draco would be comforted by his mate’s presence, and who were they to argue? They were humans and had no idea what a creature needed for comfort. The matron ultimately gave in, and moved a second bed into the screened enclosure she’d created. She made it very clear, however, that there was to be no funny business. They were to each remain in their own beds. She reminded them that either she or an assistant would be making rounds regularly and checking on them.

As soon as she left, Draco waved his hand and the beds pushed together.

“Draco! You heard what Madam Pomfrey said,” Hermione protested.

“I did,” he replied with a smirk. “We’ll each sleep in our own beds, and under our own blankets, just as she told us. I just…” he shrugged and pulled her close, “want to be near you, too.” He kissed her softly on the lips and along her jawline to her neck, then stuck out his tongue and licked just below her ear. 

Just for a moment. 

Just for a taste.

He stood up straight. “I’m actually really fucking exhausted…” he admitted. Fatigue was rare for him these days, and he was looking forward to going to bed. Sleeping. They took turns using the washroom, then climbed into their respective beds. With their blankets loosened – but very clearly still between them – Draco scooched right up to Hermione and spooned her all night, her head nestled under his chin, her hair enveloping him, his arm wrapped around her.

-

Though the details were hazy and Draco’s involvement misunderstood, by breakfast the next morning, the whole school knew there had been an incident in the Forbidden Forest.

Rumours circulated. Speculation ran rampant. 

By dinnertime, the headmistress felt the need to make a statement. 

Draco didn’t hear it, of course, as he no longer ate in the Great Hall, but according to Theo, she’d kept it simple and more or less truthful: while Mr. Malfoy was serving detention with Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest, they had discovered acromantula moving into centaur territory. An altercation resulted. Mr. Malfoy suffered injuries, but had been healed by Madam Pomfrey (slight exaggeration there). The end. 

She reiterated that students were forbidden from entering the forest, and how important it was for them to abide by this rule.

She neglected to mention that the aggressive giant spiders were hungry for human flesh. 

Draco assumed she meant to avoid a panic. 

Really, as far as he could tell, the only interest anyone had in the entire event was how it fed their need for gossip. Because of that, both Hagrid and Draco remained tight-lipped about what had happened. 

Hermione merely revealed she’d been worried about her boyfriend, but provided no details. She did confirm, however, that Madam Pomfrey had allowed her to stay in the hospital wing overnight, which caused a fervor all its own. 

No one even knew Potter and his girlfriend had been present for the aftermath, which was a relief. 

At least they knew how to keep their mouths shut. 

With no new information people quickly lost interest, and everyone stopped talking about giant spiders within the week.

Everyone except Hermione, that is.

She was obsessed. Outraged. Angry. 

Draco had never seen her so fired up, and the fact it was on his behalf was really rather flattering.  

She claimed something had to be done to prevent the acromantula from spreading. She was convinced that if they were willing to spread into centaur land, there was really nothing to prevent them from venturing out of the forest altogether and possibly snatching a student. 

She spoke to the headmistress about her concerns, only to be told she was overreacting. That the creatures of the Forbidden Forest were autonomous, and that they could manage themselves. It wasn’t for the school to intervene – the only body who could do anything at all was The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. 

It was suggested she drop the issue.

Draco wasn’t surprised. 

The headmistress was not about to cause an interspecies debate over something that had happened to Draco Malfoy . Besides, he didn’t really count. He was a hybrid now. Barely a student. He too was under the jurisdiction of the Ministry.

Hermione didn’t drop it, of course. 

She decided to appeal to the Ministry of Magic itself. To explain the situation in the forest. To inform them of the encroachment and to provide them with a brief summary of what had happened to Draco and Hagrid. 

But first, she needed to prepare herself. To research. To collect information and statements from Draco, Hagrid and even the centaurs. She wanted to create an irrefutable argument to rid the forest of the overaggressive spiders.

Which meant in the days leading up to Easter break they spent a ridiculous amount of time in the library, researching regulations, laws, and past precedent. If they weren’t in the library they were strategising with Hagrid, who was surprisingly on board with doing something about the spiders. He felt relocation was the best option, but agreed it was probably impractical owing to the size of the colony and their overall hostile behaviour. The centaurs were effectively prepared to go to war over the whole thing, and were making preparations of their own – reaching out to other herds to rally support. 

It was a bigger problem than the school was willing to admit. And, as it turned out, a bigger one than the Ministry was willing to deal with. 

As usual, they took a hands-off approach, claiming that ‘involvement in the affairs of two autonomous sentient species would be poorly received. ’

-

Hermione huffed as she read the Ministry’s response yet again . 

It was Saturday morning and they were in Draco’s bed. They’d purposely slept in and layed about, waiting for the dorm to clear out so they could spend a relaxing morning together before heading to Hogsmeade station and going home for Easter break.

Draco was positively dreading it.

He already felt like he didn’t get enough time with Hermione. Since his recovery he’d wanted her to spend every night with him in the dungeons, but she claimed it would be too distracting for their studies – they did have N.E.W.T.s coming – and had countered with Friday and Saturday night sleepovers. He’d only just managed to convince her to stay over Wednesday nights as well, so they could go to advanced arithmancy together in the morning. She’d finally agreed, while Draco cursed the fact their schedules weren’t better aligned.

On the remaining days he still sought her out between classes. Got her to join him for meals here and there. Pulled her into alcoves. Fucked her in empty classrooms.

He couldn’t get enough of her.

His mate.

But now he was facing the prospect of not seeing her for over a week, and it terrified him. What would he do if he couldn’t smell her? Touch her? Taste her?

He took a deep breath, and ran his hand up the back of her bare leg. She was lying in his bed on her stomach, wearing just a pair of knickers and one of his t-shirts. 

She started reading aloud to share her outrage. 

Again .

“Honestly, Hermione, I don’t know what you were expecting.” His hand made its way up her thigh and over her arse. He squeezed a cheek affectionately, and moved up to caress her back. Massage it. Scratch it just how she liked. “The Ministry couldn’t give a fuck about the affairs of creatures that have no direct impact on witches or wizards.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, turning to look at him over her shoulder with a frown.

“I mean centaurs and acromantula are completely outside the realm of the Ministry’s concerns. They’re happy to leave them alone, and let them manage themselves. Now, if we were discussing goblins? And there was some impact on banking, or the average citizen's ability to access their gold? They’d be all over it. But this?” He got up onto his hands and knees and crawled over her, pushed her hair off her neck and leaned down. Dragged his tongue over her shoulder, savoured the saltiness and sweat off her skin, and purred. 

“They couldn’t care less,” he concluded, running his tongue down along Hermione’s spine to her lower back, raising goose pimples and causing her to shiver. He kneaded her arse, then hooked his fingers under the elastic of her knickers and began to pull them down her legs.

“Draco, the curtains aren’t even drawn.”

“Everyone’s at breakfast,” he said indifferently, and pulled them off her feet.

“What if someone comes back early?” she asked as she got up onto her elbows and turned onto her back, spreading her legs for him.

Draco knelt down so his face was level with her cunt and smiled – her actions having no correlation whatsoever with her words. “Well,” he said slowly, inhaling her musk – honest to gods, it was heavenly – and then leaned in and ran his tongue through her folds. “When they see me between your legs, I suspect they’d discreetly back out of the room and give us some privacy.”

“Are you sure?” she breathed.

Draco looked up over her mound. “Pretty sure.” 

He slid a finger into Hermione’s cunt – delighting in its silky warmth – then dragged her arousal up to her clit and rubbed absentmindedly. “Unless it was Theo,” he admitted. “I suspect he might watch a bit before making himself scarce.” He removed his finger and replaced it with his mouth. Sucked on her nub before teasing it gently with his teeth, then reinserted two fingers into the warm embrace of her cunt. 

“Nngghh…is he really that bad?” Hermione asked breathlessly. She reached down and dragged her nails over his scalp, tangling her fingers in his hair. Pushed her pelvis up into his face.

Draco backed off ever so slightly. Couldn’t help smiling and didn’t want to nick her with his teeth. 

“He’d probably get off on it,” he admitted.

She let go of his hair and got up on her elbows, looking down at him. “Really?”

“Really,” he replied, pumping his fingers in and out until she’d dropped back onto the bed, bucking her hips in time. His tongue back to sucking her clit.

Gods, she tasted good.

He was going to miss this.

Miss her.

Fuck .

He replaced his fingers with his tongue, pushing it inside her. Relishing her taste. Laving her desire. He growled, and grabbed hold of her hips, holding on tightly, licking and sucking her cunt until she’d raised her knees and planted her feet firmly on the bed – on either side of his head – squirming and moaning with pleasure. Her fingers tangled in his hair again, and she pushed herself against his face, searching for more friction. Thrusting rhythmically in time with her moans.

She was incredible.

He just couldn’t get enough of her.

Draco licked her slit one last time before backing off and reinserting his fingers, pushing them deep and pumping rapidly. Her arousal overflowed, squelching around his fingers. The scent of her – her musk – positively sinful. 

He felt her cunt start to contract. Fluttering. Squeezing his fingers. “Oh Draco,” she groaned and lifted her feet off the bed as she climaxed. Breathing deeply. Her fingers massaging his scalp.

Salazar fucking Slytherin. 

Draco sat up rapidly and moved to the end of the bed. Pulled down his pyjama bottoms, took his cock in hand and began pumping. 

He was so fucking hard. 

He wanted her so fucking much. 

He dragged his foreskin up and down. Ran his thumb over and around his tip. Circled it. Pinched it. 

Watching her the whole time.

Hermione got up and kneeled in front of him, keeping her legs spread wide so he could see her. Smell the renewed desire that flowed out of her cunt. She pulled the t-shirt over her head and threw it to the side, leaving herself on full display. She caressed her nipples, making them hard, and watched him intently as he touched himself. Her eyes never leaving his cock, except to glance at his face every now and then. 

She was flushed with desire.

“Fuck,” Draco growled, and sped up, never taking his eyes off his mate. Trying to imagine what it would feel like to plunge his cock deep inside her. To feel the sweet embrace of her cunt. To feel the wet warmth of her. To feel her slick and silky folds against his length. 

He wanted it so fucking badly.

“Oh Draco,” Hermione sighed. She got onto her hands and knees and crawled next to him. Sat down beside him, leaned over and kissed his neck. Ran her hand through his hair, then sucked and nibbled on his earlobe.

He turned his face and caught her lips in a kiss. She cupped his jaw in her hand and returned it. A desperate and passionate kiss. Filled with desire and need and longing. She forced her tongue into his mouth and deepened their embrace. Broke off and, breathing into his mouth, said, “I wish I could make you come, Draco…” 

He wished it too. 

He felt himself get tense. His whole body as tightly strung as a bow. He leaned back towards Hermione and kissed her. Kept his hand pumping back and forth over his cock, and hissed as he came, his emissions shooting out of him and onto the bed. He let go of himself, whispered a quick scourgify and rapidly pulled up his bottoms. 

He grabbed a handful of curls and pulled Hermione over and onto his lap, kissing her more passionately, more deeply than ever, while a purr rose up from the depths of his chest. 

He’d swallow her whole if he could. 

Never wanted to come up for air. 

She was all he needed. All he wanted.

She was everything .

He broke off their kiss and hugged her tiny naked form on his lap, running his hands down her back, over her legs, then back up again. Buried his face in her neck, licked the sweat off of it and then sucked on the skin beneath her ear, marking her. He wanted to mark her everywhere. 

Make it clear she was his.

She ran her hands up his arms and backed off, looking at him intently. Inquisitively. He could practically see the wheels turning in her head.

His brows drew together. “What?” 

Hermione sighed, ran her hand up the back of his neck and played with his hair. “It’s just…” she made a face. “I was trying to think what would scare an acromantula…”

“ That’s what you were thinking about while I was going down on you? While I was tossing off?” 

She smiled. “No…not at that precise moment. But now , that’s what I’m wondering.” She cupped his jaw in her hand and rubbed her thumb along his stubble. “There’s got to be a way to drive them out. Or…”

“Or?” Draco asked, nipping at her hand as she ran her thumb over his lips.

She wrapped an arm around his neck and shifted her position on his lap. “Or to kill them.”

Draco paused, thinking. “You want to kill them?”

She pulled back and looked at him steadily. “After what they did to you?” Her brows drew together in a scowl. “I would kill every last one of them,” she confirmed with conviction. 

And from the look on her face? He believed her.

It was an incredible turn on. 

He shifted slightly, hyper aware of the fact she was sitting on top of him completely naked.

“Well,” he mused, running his hand along her side and just grazing her breast, “if memory serves, acromantula — or all spiders, for that matter — are supposed to fear the basilisk.” He shrugged. “Thanks to your buddy, though, Hogwarts is fresh out of those…”

Hermione gasped. “Do you think it’s just the petrification they fear or more? Like…” he could tell she was on to something, “…their venom? It’s extremely toxic. So much so, that only phoenix tears can cure it. Powerful enough to destroy a horcrux.”

Draco frowned. “I don’t know what that is, Hermione.”

“Horcruxes are what allowed Voldemort to come back to life. They’re a piece of soul embedded in an object – or a living being – with dark magic and murder.”

He scowled at her. “ How do you know all of this?”

Hermione tilted her head to the side, her curls cascading over her shoulder, and gave him a sheepish grin. “That’s what I was doing all last year – hunting for horcruxes. Voldemort made seven of them.” Her brows drew together in thought. “Although, one of them was accidental…” She looked at him and shrugged. “Harry.”

“ Potter had a piece of Voldemort’s soul in him?”

Salazar fucking Slytherin.

Draco shook his head. The more he knew about the Boy Wonder, the less he wanted to know.

Hermione nodded, and bit her lips before continuing, “At the Battle of Hogwarts, Ron and I collected a pile of basilisk fangs from the Chamber of Secrets.” 

“What did you do with them?” Draco asked, drawing little circles on Hermione’s hips with his thumbs.

“I dropped them,” she admitted. Then grimaced.

“What? Why are you making that face?” Draco asked, not sure he really wanted to know.

She cocked her head to the side. “Because that was when I kissed Ron for the first time.”

“You and the Weasel’s first kiss was during the Battle of Hogwarts?” he asked in disbelief.

Hermione shrugged. “In case there was never any other opportunity…” she trailed off.

“Fuck me,” he groaned. “I really didn’t need to know that.”

“ You asked .”

“I wish I hadn’t,” Draco admitted, scratching at his stubble then running his hand up her calf. “So you dropped them. Then what?”

“Then…I don’t know. Someone picked them up or…maybe they got cleaned up? We didn’t use them in the end. The diadem was destroyed by the fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement…” Draco shuddered at the memory of their narrow escape from the flames, “...and Nagini was killed with the sword of Gryffindor. They could be anywhere.”

Draco sucked on his teeth, thinking. “If basilisk venom is so strong, I presume those fangs would be worth quite a lot?”

Hermione looked at him and frowned.

“I’m just saying, if someone who knew what they were worth came across them…maybe they picked them up? Sold them?”

“Who would do that?” she asked.

Draco raised a single eyebrow and looked at her, a snarky remark at the tip of his tongue. Then he remembered she was his mate, sitting naked on his lap and thought better of it. “Hermione,” he finally said, “the school was crawling with Death Eaters. People familiar with dark and rare objects.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “Presuming a Death Eater picked one or…or all of them up. Where would they end up? Knockturn Alley?”

“That’d be my first stop…”

“So we check out Knockturn Alley. Maybe after we pick up our earth.”

Draco sighed. “You sure you want to do this?”

Hermione nodded decisively. “Yes. If we could use the basilisk venom to create some kind of…of…pest fumigation…”

“Some kind of what ?”

“It’s what muggles do when they have a serious infestation. Use pesticides to suffocate or poison them...”

Draco stared at her. “You’re serious?”

“They’re just really big spiders, Draco…if it works on small ones, I don’t see why it wouldn’t work on them too.” She frowned, leaning against his chest. “We’d need to cast some kind of bounding spell to prevent the gases from spreading throughout the entire forest, but…I think it could work.”

He nodded slowly, and dipped his face into Hermione’s hair, considering this new side of her. It was…ruthless. Cutthroat. 

Kinda hot, really.

The door to the dorm opened and Theo and Blaise stepped into the room. They stopped abruptly and stared. Hermione let out a little shriek of surprise, jumped to the corner of the bed and pulled the curtains from the four-poster around her. 

“Are you two still at it?!” Theo exclaimed with delight.

Draco sighed and shifted himself so he was in front of Hermione. “No…”

“Oh fuck, don’t tell me you were cuddling . That’s almost worse than catching you fucking,” Blaise needled.

Draco couldn’t help wondering if cuddling while plotting mass genocide would count as better or worse than shagging? He shrugged. “Fuck you, Blaise. Can the two of you give Hermione a minute to grab some clothes and get to the washroom?”

“You mean we can’t watch her streak across the room starkers?” Theo asked, actually sounding disappointed. 

Like he thought it might really have been a possibility.

Draco looked at Hermione, just her face visible from the cocoon she’d wrapped around herself with the curtain and raised his eyebrows.

Hermione jutted out her chin for a moment, then bit her lip. Narrowed her eyes. 

“Okay. Fine,” she declared.

“Okay?” Draco asked with surprise.

“Okay? Theo echoed with enthusiasm, rubbing his hands together.

“Okay?” Blaise repeated, looking shocked.

“Yes,” she nodded with a grin. “Okay. Draco, get me my satchel? And throw in my wand please?”

“Alright,” he said as he scooched off the bed and picked Hermione’s satchel up off the floor. He took her wand from the bedside table and slid it into the front pocket, then held the bag by its strap and looked at her. Raised his eyebrows. 

Waiting.

Hermione licked her lips. Looked playfully at Theo and Blaise who were both completely invested in this turn of events, staring eagerly at his girlfriend. She looked at Draco, then peered over the bed as if to gauge the height of it, and to plan her path to the washroom. 

“On the count of three,” she said, snaking her hand out of the curtains and grabbing Draco’s t-shirt.

“One…”

She pulled the t-shirt into the curtains with her.

“Two…” 

Though he couldn’t see what she was doing, she moved around in her cocoon – her head remained visible, so he knew at the very least she wasn’t putting the t-shirt on.

“Three!” she exclaimed, bursting out of the curtains and jumping off the bed, holding Draco’s t-shirt in front of her. She grabbed her satchel and streaked into the washroom, her arse on display for all to see.

Chapter Text

A few hours later, they were at Hogsmeade Station, boarding the train for London. 

Draco had originally planned to skip the Hogwarts Express altogether and apparate directly to Malfoy Manor. Hermione, however, had implored him to reconsider and take the train with her. Partly because she wanted his company, but mostly – and most importantly – because her parents were picking her up at King’s Cross station, and she wanted to introduce them to Draco.

To say he was concerned would be a massive understatement.

Though he typically did well with parents, his experience was exclusively with pureblood parents. Aristocratic pureblood parents. Something told him Hermione’s parents would be altogether different. For starters, they were muggles. He’d never even met a muggle before. Not officially, at least. Didn’t have the slightest idea how to act around them. Had no fucking clue what to expect other than the drivel they taught in his mandatory Muggle Studies classes.

He knew they had very limited experience of the wizarding world.

For most of Hermione’s life as a witch she’d been underage and unable to use magic around them – and so the bulk of their knowledge came from the fucking Weasleys of all people and Diagon Alley. The latter included a particularly awful encounter with his own father in Flourish and Blotts before second year.

(Draco couldn’t help but notice his father always managed to somehow fuck up his life.)

When she came of age and finally could do magic around them, she’d obliviated them. Removed all their memories of magic and of her, and then moved them to Australia to keep them safe during the war. 

That she’d gone to such measures was, in and of itself, a lot to process and unpack. That she’d done so successfully was even more remarkable. 

When their memories had finally been restored, Hermione had promised never to hide anything from them again, no matter how magical or incomprehensible it might seem. Instead, she would explain it. Over and over again, if necessary, to help them understand. So she could include them in her world. Regain their trust.

And, apparently, that included not only meeting, but explaining, Draco.

Explaining everything about him.

When she’d asked if he was okay with it – with revealing his true nature to a pair of muggles he’d never met – he’d instantly agreed. He hadn’t even had to think about it. Though he wouldn’t say so, he’d realised some time ago he’d agree to anything she asked. 

Dance to awful music? Sure. 

Meet her parents? You betcha. 

Track down basilisk venom to wipe out an entire colony of acromantula? Just say when.

He would do anything to make her happy. 

Including spending almost eight hours on the Hogwarts Express and subjecting himself to the chaos, noise, and overabundance of smells that went with it.

-

At some point about halfway to London, Draco had enough. 

The train was altogether too overwhelming. Too small. Too confined. The air was stuffy and thick with the odour of too many bodies. The continuous assault on his senses was just too much. He felt like a caged animal. Every single fibre of his being screamed to get off the train. To claw his way out, if necessary. To escape. 

He’d done a lot of pacing. 

Up and down the train cars, looking grumpily at his classmates – his smelly classmates – most of whom quite literally jumped out of his way when they saw the thunderous expression on his face.

He paced around the cabin, effectively spinning in circles it was so small, bemoaning the fact the windows didn’t open. What magical buffoon had thought they could perfectly control the interior temperature – and odour – of the train?

He sighed in irritation, a permanent scowl on his face.

The odiferous onslaught never ending.

Finally, Draco resigned himself to just powering through it. 

More or less. 

He sat down and pulled Hermione onto his lap, burying his face in her hair and the crook of her neck. Trapping her there, his arms wrapped tightly around her middle. Trying to focus on her scent, and her scent alone . 

She shifted her position on his lap – the feeling of her squirming on top of him making his cock unexpectedly twitch – pulled out a book, leaned back against his chest and suffered it all fairly well.

Draco closed his eyes and breathed her in, completely engrossed by the nuanced combination of her shampoo (floral), deodorant (coconut and vanilla), her natural scent (faintly sweet), and just a hint of musk (rich and tangy).

He relished being enveloped by her various smells. They soothed him. Calmed him. 

Aroused him.

Draco’s grip around Hernione’s waist loosened. He splayed his hands and began rubbing her stomach absentmindedly. She shifted on top of him again, muttering, “Hmm, that feels nice.” Then turned the page of her book, her attention completely absorbed. He peered over her shoulder to see what was so engrossing.

Arithmancy.

Fuck, she really never did rest.

Even as they were headed on a two week break, she was still reading. Still studying. Still getting ahead.

She was such a fucking swot.

All the bloody time.

The idea that her brain never turned off – that it was always working, always figuring things out, always thinking – well, Draco found it incredibly hot.

He abandoned her waist and ran his hands down over her hips and along her outer thighs, then back up again. Rubbed little circles with his thumb on the tops of her thighs before grasping one hip firmly with his hand, while the other moved its caresses downward to Hermione’s inner thigh, up along her groin, and then over her centre.

Her breath caught at the same moment as her heart rate sped up.

He heard her swallow.

She closed her book, a finger keeping her place, and leaned her head back against Draco’s shoulder.

He buried his face in her hair and began to purr. Licked under her ear, and sucked on her neck while he rubbed his hand back and forth between her legs, pushing the seam of her jeans against her clit.

Hermione sighed, and raised her knees. Planted her feet on either side of Draco’s legs on the bench, opening her legs wide to give him better access. Pushed her head back against his shoulder as he licked along her collarbone and growled.

“Is the curtain closed on the cabin door?” she breathed huskily. Her voice quiet. Relaxed.

“No,” Draco responded, then unfastened the button and zip of her jeans.

She nodded absentmindedly and her eyelids fluttered shut. Her book dropped unceremoniously to the floor of the cabin as she reached her hands up behind her to grasp his hair. She looked over her shoulder, permitting Draco to lick along her jawline and catch her mouth in a wet, desperate, kiss.

His hand slithered into her knickers, through her mound of curls, and to her clit. He teased it, rubbing gentle little circles around it. Hermione’s breathing stuttered, then steadied, as his fingers ventured further down to her slit and touched the wetness that had accumulated. 

Draco groaned.

He relished how warm she was between her legs. Enjoyed how she always felt so incredibly hot against his permanent chill. Always felt so bloody good . Like a little furnace, burning just for him. Always so fucking wet, warm and welcoming. 

He inserted two fingers and she gasped. Tilted her pelvis so he could go deeper, pushing her rump against his growing erection.

Fucking fuck.

He couldn’t help pushing back. Pushing himself against her as he reached deeper inside with his fingers, exploring the front walls of her cunt, while pressing the heel of his hand against her clit. Thrusting. In and out. His hips keeping time with his hand.

Hermione started panting, glorious little moans of pleasure escaping her lips each time her hips bucked up and his hand plunged deeper inside of her.

She ran her hands along Draco’s forearms, then hooked them around her bent knees, to help keep her feet up on the bench, and her legs open and accessible for him.