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It was strange the way they had found each other during the war. After years of fighting, Draco never thought it would end. He had grown—both in maturity and skill—but he was tired. Perhaps that’s why when he found Hermione Granger, on the brink of death in the bowels of Malfoy Manor, he escaped with her. And killed his own father in the process.
They were inseparable after that. They fought as a unit, faced every battle together. Even Potter had told her how terrifying it was to see the two of them together on the field, eyes menacing, each fiercely protective of the other.
Draco had absconded with her deep into the forest. Tended her wounds and helped her hone her fighting abilities till she was just as lethal as he was. He was no longer a Death Eater, but she didn’t really belong to the Order anymore either. They were something else entirely, a deadly team of two.
But still, he was holding something back. When they’d escape from another scuffle and Hermione would treat his wounds, Draco would sometimes shy away from her touch. He let her clean and heal him, but that was all. He made no move to touch her, even when she purposely changed in front of him. Once, she stripped bare before wading into a lake to bathe. He didn’t join her.
Maybe he didn’t feel the same way she did. She tried to rationalize his rescue of her, that maybe he had just reached his breaking point and couldn’t see another familiar face die. But that didn’t explain how he could kill his own father. Something just didn’t add up.
They met with Harry and the rest of the Order on occasion, to trade strategies and information. The careful tension was very much a “we’ll stay out of your way if you stay out of ours” arrangement. Hermione could see in Harry’s eyes that he regretted her being captured, but that he understood why she stayed with Malfoy.
Then Voldemort was killed.
It should’ve been cause for celebration. It should’ve meant the war was over. But it didn’t and it wasn’t. There was a band of loyal Death Eaters who were planning a last ditch effort. One more attempt at the Boy Who Lived in retribution for their leader’s death. They got to him through Ginny Weasley, and of course, Hermione had to be part of the rescue team.
“It’s a trap,” Draco warned as she pulled on her sleek dragon-skin boots. He had given them to her shortly after they started fighting together, tired of her shoes always wearing through.
“I know.” Her lips formed a thin line. “That’s why it’s best you don’t come.”
He scoffed. “I don’t think you should go.”
Hermione straightened up and leaned in close, running her thumb down the long scar on the left side of his face. It started on his forehead, cut through his eyebrow and ended just above his lip. A gift from Dolohov before she had swooped in and killed him. She let herself linger there for just a moment, drifting to his cupid’s bow. “Then give me a reason to stay.”
He closed his eyes, letting himself savor her gentle touch, as if memorizing it. They had been together nearly a year now, and that was on top of the month he spent nursing her back to health. In all that time, he never dared to touch her beyond healing. He couldn’t allow himself to, after all he was part of the reason she was in this mess to begin with. She deserved so much more. He said nothing.
She sighed, removing her finger from his face. “That’s what I thought.”
He watched her walk away, sending up a silent prayer to whatever deity might be listening that it wouldn’t be the last time.
Draco tried to sleep, but couldn’t. A tightening in his chest told him something was wrong. He had to get to Hermione. The ring he wore was keyed in to her location at all times. All he had to do was Apparate.
It was a cave—too quiet and dark as death. He roamed the winding caverns until he heard the sounds of fighting. When he reached the melee, it was utter chaos. Beams of red and green light whizzed back and forth in the darkness, the only constant light from a dying fire in the center of the room.
He could see Potter and Weasley dueling with masked figures, both of them bleeding profusely. Several others were still standing, too, but bodies littered the floor—Death Eaters and Order members alike. Ginny Weasley was unconscious and laid upon a stone table. He couldn’t tell whether she was alive or not.
But Granger—where was she? His eyes darted frantically about the dark room, and he managed to just dodge a curse from someone in a black robe. He had no choice but to join the fight. He whipped out his wand and began firing curses as he swept the area, scanning the floor for signs of her.
Not like this, not like this. He repeated the mantra over and over in his head. He never even got to tell her how he felt. That he’d raze cities to the ground for her.
“Draco!” He turned to see where her voice was coming from. She was fighting three Death Eaters on her own, because of course she was. But his appearance had distracted her just enough, and a curse hit her squarely to the chest. As she collapsed to the ground, he couldn’t help but identify the look in her eyes—hope.
Hope that he had come, that everything would work out. He was a damn fool for not following sooner.
Draco rushed over, deflecting curses without looking as he rushed to her side. If she was dead, he’d murder every single person in here—including the bloody Chosen One. “Granger! Hermione… are you with me?”
She was badly bruised. Blood dripped from wounds that had opened up like fissures all down her body, ruining the expensive armor he insisted she wear. But then she moaned. She moaned and his heart roared—she was alive—barely, but it was enough for him.
Draco’s eyes seemingly glowed hot with rage as he rose in slow motion, cradling his love close to his chest. These fuckers would pay if it was the last thing he did. He couldn’t control it—couldn’t shout a warning as his magic expanded wider and wider, bursting forth from his body where he stood. He was like an exploding star.
The dim fire in the center of the room grew. It grew and grew until flames licked up the sides of the cavern, engulfing everyone in its wake. Screams surrounded him as he very calmly walked through the bedlam. He ignored the scent of singed hair and burning flesh as he carried the woman he loved to safety. Nothing else mattered right now.
Very faintly, he registered Harry and the others, gathering their people and fleeing. Potter may have even nodded in his direction as he departed the once dark tunnel, now alight with the flames of Draco’s vengeance. A fleeting pang of relief coursed through him—Granger would be pleased her friends had made it.
The walk felt agonizingly long as he brought her out to the surface, into the soft moonlight.
“You came,” she whispered, eyes straining to open.
“Of course I came.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
His eyes were furious, a molten silver she’d not seen before. He had somehow gotten a black eye in the fight, purple blooming on his pale skin, and blood trickled down his gorgeous, angry face. He looked like an avenging angel, all aglow with righteous fury. Before it all went dark, Hermione thought, No, Draco, I really don’t.
When Hermione awoke, there were a pair of strong arms gripping her tightly against a wide, bare chest. She could feel hot breath on her neck and a delighted shiver ran down her back. She had been changed from her battle clothes into a soft nightgown. There was a faint soreness in her muscles, but nothing too alarming considering all she’d been through. She slowly turned over as a masculine groan rumbled behind her.
She smiled when she saw Draco’s face. There was no blood now, but he’d maybe added a scar or two to his impressive tally. In truth, she loved his scars. Loved him. “How long was I out?”
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “A little over two days. I gave you a Calming Draught and some Dreamless Sleep along with the other healing potions to make sure you rested.”
“And Harry?”
Draco sighed. “He sent his bloody stag to relay the victory. Apparently my little outburst was enough to kill the remaining Death Eaters. They suffered some losses, but your friends are fine.”
Relief flooded her body, and she closed her eyes a moment in gratitude. “What do you mean by your outburst ? And why am I in your bed?”
Draco tensed, but she reached for his arm as he retracted it.
“I didn’t say I minded, I just want to know why.” She let her fingers dust over his exposed shoulder, trying not to get her hopes up too much.
He looked almost sheepish as he started to explain. “I’ve tried so hard, Granger. Tried to not let my feelings for you get in the way of our mission. But I saw you injured and I—I just lost it. If something happened to you, I’d burn it all down. The world would be meaningless. I can’t hide it anymore. I know you deserve so much better but—”
She cut him off with a kiss, feeling more alive than ever as his lips melded to hers like they’d been made for each other. Draco pulled away, eyes wide as he took in her darkened expression. Then he growled and flipped her onto her back, like a predator going in for the kill.
He offered her no mercy, forcing her lips to open for him as he explored her mouth with his tongue. He was ruthless in his passion, extracting whimpers from her as she tangled her fingers in his soft, platinum hair.
When he finally allowed her to breathe, they both had awestruck faces. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he said.
“I think I have a little idea,” Hermione said, her hand inching further down his body. “Mmm, not so little after all.”
Draco groaned as she cupped him, stroking him through his sleep pants. “I just thought—you and Weasley…”
“That was eons ago. You saved me, not once, but twice now! How could I not love you?” Her other hand came up to caress his face, running a finger over his new scars.
He gulped, warmth spreading through his body. “Hermione, I have nothing left…” his breath ghosted over her skin as he placed kisses down her jaw and neck. “But everything I have is yours.”
“Then give it to me, Draco.” She guided his hand underneath her nightgown, between her legs where she was burning for him.
When he had changed her out of her clothes, he hadn’t been paying attention to her nakedness, focused only on healing her wounds. In his haste to get her to a stable and resting state, he didn’t bother putting underwear on her. “ Fuck. You’re dripping.”
A gasp left her lips as his fingers explored her folds. “I’ve wanted you for so long. I thought—I thought you didn’t feel the same way.”
Draco cursed himself internally as he rose back up to kiss the hot tears escaping down her cheeks. “No. Christ, Granger, nothing could be further from the truth. You are perfect in every way. How could I not want you?”
She sniffled, nodding into the crook of his neck as he gathered her close. “Then show me. Show me how much you want me.”
He smirked. “Gladly.”
The first flick of his tongue against the sensitive flesh at the apex of her thighs had Hermione writhing beneath him. Her fingers twisted in his hair as he gripped her legs hard enough to leave bruises and lapped at her like she was an oasis in the desert. She could feel him smiling against her heated skin as he brought her closer and closer to the edge. She yanked on his hair until he groaned. She hoped it hurt at least a little—he was an idiot. They could have been doing this for months.
Draco came up for air, nipping her inner thigh. When she yelped, he laughed. “You’re thinking too loudly. I can practically hear you calling me an idiot.”
“Get back to it, then.” She smiled sweetly at him.
“You’ll never get there if you don’t let go.” For emphasis, he pushed a finger inside of her as he returned his tongue to her cunt.
“Ah—” Hermione arched her back. “You make a compelling argument.”
He redoubled his efforts, adding another finger and crooking them just so to reach that textured spot inside that made her squeal. Another thrust and he sucked hard on her clit, feeling her clench around his fingers as she moaned his name.
“Fuck.” Hermione looked flushed, gown up around her waist and mouth parted in pleasure.
“What a dirty mouth, Granger.” He crawled back up over her, kissing her deeply and hoping she could taste herself on him.
She rose and stripped the nightgown off the rest of the way, tossing it on the floor. “You are far too overdressed, Draco.”
He quickly shed his pajama bottoms and pressed himself to her again, relishing the feel of her skin on his. He’d ached for this. She had a new scar on her right shoulder, and he let his lips linger there on his way down to her breasts.
“Want you, inside… now.” Hermione squirmed under him, bucking her hips up to meet his.
“Patience, pet. I’ve thought about your tits quite a lot, you know. I want to take my time.” He swirled his tongue over one rosy bud and all her protests died instantly.
Hermione felt as if she might combust, the way her skin heated under his touch. She knew it would be explosive between them, the way they moved in battle—how they were so in sync—she knew it would translate. But to finally experience it was beyond what she had imagined. “Draco,” she breathed.
“Yes, love. I’m going to fuck you now.”
He flipped her onto her stomach and pulled her hips up just slightly, fingers kneading her arse as he spread her and entered in one smooth thrust. She cried out and gripped the sheets. He had prepared her plenty, but the stretch was still a pleasant ache as she acclimated to his size.
Draco leaned over her and gripped her hair, sucking the back of her neck as he set a punishing pace. The sounds of their coupling filled the room as he unleashed months of pent up tension on her. She took everything he gave and still asked for more, enjoying the feeling of him slamming into her again and again.
“Harder,” she moaned.
He obliged, gripping her hair more tightly as he fucked her with abandon. “I have dreamed of holding your hair while you take my cock. Dreamed of splitting you open just like this.”
“Oh god.” Hermione could feel her second orgasm creeping up, tingling shooting down her spine and making her toes curl.
“That’s it love, come all over my cock.” He released his grip on her hair and smoothed a hand around her waist, down over her mons, and found her clit again, stroking her roughly.
It was just what she needed, and she let go, fingers twining in the sheets as she came. Draco gave her no reprieve, pulling out quickly to flip her over and draw one of her legs up as he entered her again, his thrusts growing quicker and more relentless.
“Fuck, fuck.” Hermione could do nothing but take it as he pounded into her, chasing his own release. It lasted longer than she expected, sending her over the edge again with him as he pulsed inside her.
Draco grunted and stilled, feeling more satisfied than he ever had in his entire life. He brushed the sweaty curls back from her forehead and kissed her damp skin. “That was fucking amazing.”
She smiled. “So you admit that you’re an idiot.”
He groaned and nibbled her earlobe. “Yes, if we could’ve been doing that the whole time, then yes. I’m the biggest bloody idiot to ever exist.”
Hermione giggled and pulled him back for another kiss. “Yes, but you’re my idiot.”