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Hermione was, to put it simply, drunk. Pissed. Obliterated. Wasted. She was absolutely wasted. She had to be, considering it was Pansy’s birthday and she’d been guilted into coming. Since her breakup with Draco two months ago, she’d severely neglected her friendships with the other snakes, and Pansy had decided her birthday was simply not an event that was allowed to be missed.
It’ll be crowded, Pansy had said. The nightclub is big enough. You won’t even see him.
Except Pansy forgot to take into consideration gravity, and the fact that Draco Malfoy was the center of Hermione’s. She would always gravitate towards him. Unintentionally, unconsciously, unfortunately. Therefore, she had, in fact, caught glimpses of him more times than she could count.
He was never looking at her, of course. Why would he, when she had been the one to end things? After six months of being together, she’d felt too much too fast, and the fear of the inevitable crash had caused her to flee. Because, as much fun as they had together, as good of a match as they seemed to be, there was no way he could love her. There was no way he would be able to imagine the same future she’d been able to. So she'd protected her heart before it got crushed.
And now she was drowning in regret and loneliness and misery, all while he looked bloody delicious in a partially unbuttoned dress shirt, sleeves rolled up past his elbows.
So, it was understandable why she was six tequila shots deep.
The dance floor was a crowded blur of bodies, lights, and flashes of Ginny’s red hair as she bopped wildly to the music. Her hands were clasped tightly with Hermione’s, as they had been almost the entire night. This had been the compromise with Pansy — Hermione would come to her birthday celebration, but she would be bringing Ginny as a safety blanket. And while Pansy did not like Ginny (though Hermione could not figure out the root of that because the witches were so bloody similar), she agreed.
The only unfortunate part of being so drunk was the lack of situational awareness, which is why it took Hermione entirely too long to notice the fight that broke out just beside her and Ginny. She didn’t notice it at all until someone was winding up a punch, and their elbow slammed right into Hermione’s nose.
She gasped, more from shock than anything, as she cupped her hand over her lower face and blood poured over her lips. Space was already being made on the dance floor as the fight continued, and Hermione crouched down, falling to her knees, as dizziness won out.
Within seconds, a hand held her jaw, and another wrapped gently around her wrist, carefully trying to pull her hand away from her face. She blinked twice, and the face that came into view was not Ginny's.
In front of her was Draco, looking worried and tilting her face every which way to see the damage. Ginny was beside him, but she was just as drunk as Hermione, which meant she would be nearly useless at the time of a crisis.
“Are you alright?” he was asking her. Hermione’s only response was a giggle, because the absurdity of the scene was truly astounding. She was on her knees in a club, face bleeding from a wound she couldn’t feel in the slightest, and the first person who’d managed to get to her was the man she’d left heartbroken two months ago. She laughed again.
One corner of Draco’s mouth tilted upwards, though he still looked concerned. “You’re much drunker than I thought, aren’t you?”
Gods above, he looked good. His face was a mix of pink and blue from the lights. His eyes were serious, his jaw set sternly, but his hands on her were gentle. They always were. And his mouth was set in a deep frown as he studied her. She knew this because she was staring at his mouth.
“Very much so, yes,” she said, realizing he had asked her a question. Though it was likely rhetorical, given the obviousness of it.
She finally looked away from his perfect mouth, her gaze flicking back up to meet his. All night, she’d wanted his eyes on her, and she finally had that — it only took her taking an elbow to the face. Her mouth slowly curved into a smile.
Draco exhaled, dropping his hand from her jaw. His other kept its hold on her wrist. “Weasley, take care of her, please,” he said, his voice sounding forced.
“Let me get napkins,” Ginny said, springing to her feet. Draco tried to protest, but she was lost to the crowd instantly. Hermione was vaguely aware of security breaking up the fight and separating whoever was involved, but she was looking at Draco.
“What if I don’t want Ginny?” she asked. “What if I want you?”
Draco looked away. She used the opportunity to take in the rest of him — his tense shoulders, his clenched jaw, his unbuttoned shirt and the hint of skin beneath the fabric. Skin she’s kissed and touched.
“Draco,” she said, just loud enough for him to hear. She wanted him to look at her again, and he did. He looked like he was in pain.
“You don’t want me, Granger. You made that clear.”
She must’ve looked ridiculous, the way her bloody face fell into a small pout. Her poker face was normally immaculate, but right now, she couldn’t help it.
“What?” he asked, noticing her crestfallen expression.
“You hate me again,” she whispered. He couldn’t have actually heard it, but he must’ve read her lips, because his brows furrowed together.
“I don’t hate you.”
“You only called me Granger when you hated me.”
Draco tilted his head, like she couldn’t understand what she was saying. Which, in all honesty, was fair, because she could barely keep track of the words coming out of her mouth.
“I called you Granger when we were together. I called you that long after I stopped hating you,” he insisted. And she knew what he was saying was true — he had always called her by her surname, in addition to her first name, even while they’d been dating. But she couldn’t pinpoint why this time, this instance, felt like it meant everything had reverted.
“Yeah, but—,” she said uselessly, trying to make him understand what she couldn’t put into words. He’d always been so good at that. “It’s different now.”
He stared at her for a moment before sighing softly. He leaned a little closer. “I don’t hate you, Hermione. I couldn’t even if I tried.”
The floor was filling up again, people beginning to dance again like that fight had never happened. No one was paying them any attention, despite them being on the floor, but there was a small circle of space left around them. Despite the alcohol still clearly flowing through Hermione’s body, she felt a moment of painfully sober clarity.
“Did you?” she asked.
“Did I what?”
“Try. To hate me,” she said. “After.” She didn’t need to specify after what. They both knew.
Draco’s eyes darted away briefly, like it hurt to look at her while they talked about their breakup.
“Yes,” he said. “I tried. And I couldn’t.”
“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did,” she said. “I certainly do.”
“Hate me?” he asked, eyes locking onto hers intently.
“Hate me,” she echoed softly. Draco blinked once, then a few times rapidly. He looked away from her, scanning their surroundings.
Hermione read his lips as he whispered, “Where the hell did Weasley go?” Draco reached for her and held her wrists as he brought them to their feet. She noted that he didn’t let their hands touch. He reached into his pocket and found his wand, waving it in front of her face, which suddenly felt much less sticky. His hand hovered, like he wanted to touch her nose. “Does it hurt?”
Hermione reached up and prodded at the center of her face. When she put pressure on it, she could certainly notice the pain, but as of now, she was still too intoxicated to feel the full force of the injury. “Not really,” she answered.
He nodded once before searching for something over the crowd. When he found it, his eyes narrowed. Wrapping one hand around her arm gently, he led her off the dance floor, where they found their friends crowded around a few high-top tables. Pansy was watching them with a knowing grin, Ginny right beside her.
“So nice of you both to join us,” Pansy said. “How interesting that you were able to have a nice little chat in the middle of the floor.”
“Did you cast a privacy charm over us? While she was bleeding?” Draco demanded, dropping Hermione’s arm. “Are you mad?”
But Pansy just rolled her eyes. “She was fine. You were with her, weren’t you?” She took note of the obvious distance and tension between them, and she frowned. “And even after all that, you’re still being stubborn.”
Hermione looked between Pansy and Draco, unsure of what exactly the witch meant by that. Draco, on the other hand, seemed to understand, considering he shut his eyes and took a slow, deep breath. When he opened them, he focused on Ginny.
“Weasley, take Granger home, if you will.”
“Actually,” Pansy intercepted, wrapping an arm around Ginny’s shoulders. A bizarre display, considering she’d claimed to hate the witch just a few hours ago. Her eyes shifted to Hermione. “Weasley and I were just bonding, which I know you’ve been wanting. Right, Granger?”
“I—yes?” The word sounded more like a question than an answer.
“So, I’d hate to cut this short by sending Weasley home,” Pansy said. Her gaze bounced back to Draco, who looked murderous. “Plus, she’s too drunk to properly take Granger home, anyway. You, my dearest Draco, are quite sober, if I recall.”
“You’re not slick, Parkinson.”
“No,” Pansy agreed, dropping her arm from Ginny’s shoulders. “I’m not, but I’m still right.”
Ginny turned to Hermione. “How’s your nose?” she asked. Unfortunately, Pansy was quite correct that Ginny was still much too drunk to be of use right now. It was obvious from the slur of her words and the haziness in her eyes, despite the fact that she was trying to be serious.
“Can barely feel it,” she answered. “I’d still… like to go home, though.” Pain or no pain, she wasn't in much of a partying mood anymore.
Ginny bit her lip, glancing away for a second. “If Malfoy really is sober, would you mind if he Apparates with you?” she asked, looking guilty. “I would, you know I would. But the chances of us getting splinched if one of us Apparates are quite high right now.”
“I know,” Hermione agreed. A few hours ago, the idea of seeing Draco in her flat again sounded like a nightmare. Now that she was drunk… well, she’s had worse ideas. She looked over to where he was arguing quietly with Pansy. “It’s fine,” she told Ginny. “He’ll just drop me off and leave.”
Ginny hesitated, clearly still feeling bad, but it was objectively the best option. Neither of them could argue that. “Okay,” she said. Hermione turned her attention back to Draco, who was listening to Pansy with a clenched jaw.
“Draco,” she interrupted, causing both snakes to snap their attention her way. She felt suddenly nervous as she asked, “Will you take me home?”
Pansy’s lips split into a brilliant smile. “What a wonderful idea, Granger. He’d be happy to,” she said, pushing Draco in Hermione’s direction. Draco just nodded stiffly.
Hermione bid Pansy and Ginny goodbye, as well as Theo and Blaise, who’d been preoccupied with their own conversation, and followed Draco out of the nightclub.
“I’m sorry,” she said as soon as they were outside. “Ginny is so drunk, and I can’t ask Pansy to leave her own celebration early to take me home. You can just Apparate me to my flat and go, I’ll be fine.”
“It’s fine, Hermione,” he said, leading them towards the Apparition point. “I don’t mind.”
“You certainly seemed to mind,” she murmured. Or rather, she tried to murmur, but it still came out loud enough for him to hear.
“I don’t mind taking you home,” he said. “It was Pansy’s meddling that I minded.”
“Her meddling?”
“Her casting the privacy charm on us,” he explained. “It was some type of ploy to…” he trailed off.
She blinked, not understanding at first. If she'd been sober, it would've clicked much sooner, but in her current state, it took a moment. “To get us back together,” she finished when she realized.
“Mhm.”
“Stupid of her,” Hermione said, almost to herself. “She doesn’t even know the real reason we broke up.”
“I don’t even know the reason,” he said sharply. He held out his arm to her, and she realized they were at the Apparition point. She blinked once and took his arm. “Ready?” he asked, his voice alright softer than before.
She nodded, and then they swirled through space and landed in the entryway of her flat.
“Do you want to know?” she found herself asking.
“Know what?” Draco asked, gently pulling out of her grasp.
“Why I ended it.”
He looked at her with wide eyes, like that had been the last thing he’d expected from her.
She hadn’t told him the real reason. He would’ve fought her on it, wouldn’t have allowed her to take the coward’s way out, would’ve insisted that she couldn’t possibly know the outcome of their relationship. In fact, she hadn’t given him any reason at all. She’d just said it was over and left him without answers.
Of course, he would want them now. And yet, his only response was, “Do you have a sober-up potion around?”
Hermione blinked. “Did you hear me?”
“I did,” he nodded, looking away and walking into her flat. “And you’re only offering because you’re drunk.”
“I’ll tell you when I’m sober, then,” she said, marching past him towards her kitchen where she had a sober-up potion on the counter, right where she’d placed it earlier tonight for when she’d returned home. She knocked it back, grimacing at the taste.
And then once the effects settled over her body, she grimaced again at the blinding pain in her nose. “Jesus, fuck,” she spat, her hand coming up to gingerly touch the bridge of her nose. “I can’t believe I didn’t even hex whoever hit me.”
“Here, let me see,” Draco said, appearing in front of her. She flinched backwards before she could stop herself, and hurt flickered through his expression.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “You can— you can look.”
He just barely touched her jaw with his fingertips as he tilted her head back. With his other hand, he pulled out his wand. “Do you think we need to go to St. Mungo’s, or can one of us heal it?”
“Did it swell? Or does it look crooked?” she asked. “You should know what a broken nose looks like.”
His gaze clashed with hers for a second, and she forced herself not to smile. He still must’ve seen something humorous in her expression, because the corner of his lips twitched. It was an obvious reference to when she'd punched him back in their third year at Hogwarts. Something resembling an inside joke, even after what happened between them.
“It doesn’t look broken,” he assured her. “But it will probably bruise if we do nothing.”
“You can heal it then.”
He nodded once and lifted his wand. He murmured a soft incantation, and the pain seeped away. She sighed softly. “Thank you.”
His fingers didn’t leave her jaw yet. She realized then exactly how close they were standing, their chests less than a foot apart. He was towering over her, her neck craned back to meet his gaze. It would be so easy for him to lean down and kiss her.
He brought that daydream to an abrupt halt when he said, “You said you’d tell me when you were sober.”
She blinked. She had said that. Why the fuck had she said that? He must’ve sensed that she was regretting the offer, because his eyes turned pleading. “Please tell me,” he murmured. “You have no idea the kind of circles I’ve been running in, the places my mind has gone, the assumptions I’ve made. What did I do?”
Her heart broke inside her chest. It was so like him to blame himself; how could she not have predicted that?
“You didn’t do anything, Draco,” she promised.
“Then why, Hermione?” He tossed his wand onto the counter and cupped her jaw with purpose now, both hands holding the sides of her face. She inhaled sharply, reveling in the warmth of his palms.
She shut her eyes, unwilling to see his face when she whispered, “I was scared. I felt so much for you, so quickly. It was so overwhelming and real, and I was scared you would never feel that much for me. So I left before you ever had the chance.”
Hermione braced herself for the moment his anger would set in. He would let go of her face and tell her how selfish and unfair she’d been, how presumptuous her decision was. She prepared herself for the worst, and she almost jolted in shock when his forehead rested against hers gently.
“You should’ve told me,” he whispered.
“I know.”
“So I could have told you that I’ve loved you since before we were even together.”
Her eyes snapped open, and her head cocked back, looking at him in shock. His hands were still in the air where he had previously held her face. He dropped them, slowly reaching for her waist instead. She didn’t object, mainly because she was still reeling over what he’d said.
“You— what?” she stuttered. “No, you couldn’t have.”
He smiled softly at her bemusement. “When Pansy told me two years ago that you and she were friends, I thought you would still be that swotty, insufferable know-it-all,” he said. “And, well, you were. But you were also funny, confident... beautiful.”
She sniffed. “I was always funny.”
“Well, now I knew,” he said. “It was easy to hold a conversation with you, it was fun to debate with you, I liked flirting with you to make you blush.”
“Arse,” she muttered, her eyes flicking away as her cheeks betrayed her and flushed pink. He grinned.
“It took no time at all for me to realize I liked you,” he continued. “By the time I finally found the courage to ask you on a date, I loved you. I wanted to wait for you to say it first, because I didn’t want to scare you off. I realize now I should’ve been honest sooner.”
“You loved me,” she whispered. How had she been so muddled with fear in her head that she had somehow missed that? She’d known him better than almost anyone, and he’d certainly never failed to show her that he loved her. She hadn’t been paying attention in the slightest.
“I did,” he nodded. He paused for a beat, watching her closely. “I do. Currently.”
His hands tightened on her waist, and he pulled her closer. When she inhaled, their chests brushed together. She placed her hands on his chest and let them drift upward, over his shoulders. Gravity pulled her towards him, and his eyes glittered. As good as he’d looked under pink lights in a drunken haze, he looked even more incredible in her kitchen.
“So you love me,” she said, trying not to smile too widely when he nodded. “And I love you.” She had never stopped, even when she’d tried.
His breath caught in his throat, and he nodded again after a few seconds, a little dazed, like he couldn’t believe it. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip to quell her grin — he watched the movement. “Pansy is going to be insufferable when she finds out her meddling worked,” Hermione whispered.
“She’s always insufferable,” he said. “But for once, I’m glad about it.”
With that, he crushed her body against his and leaned down to kiss her. It had only been two months since they’d done this, but relief flooded Hermione, all the way down to her toes. She wound her arms around his neck and parted her lips, whimpering when his tongue brushed against hers.
“Fuck, baby,” he murmured against her mouth. Her knees felt weak from the name. In addition to her given name, he’d also adopted several pet names. Baby had always been one of her favorites. His lips trailed over her jaw and down her neck.
“You should take me to bed,” she panted, arching into him.
“I think I’ll take you right here,” he responded. She nearly stumbled as he guided her towards the island, her feet tangling with his. In a flash, he spun her so she faced the counter, and his arms twined around her body. His erection pressed against the swell of her arse.
“This dress has been driving me insane all night, love,” he murmured into her ear. Hermione flattened her palms against the counter, trying to ground herself, but stars danced in her vision as the marble cut into her hips. “Did you think about me when you put it on?”
“I’m always thinking about you.”
He hummed, his teeth grazing her shoulder. “Good answer.”
“Draco, please,” she whispered, grinding backward against him. She felt drunk all over again, this time entirely on him. Impatience and desperation were making her frantic and needy.
“Normally, I would tease you,” he said, his voice like gravel. She almost sobbed at the idea of being kept on the edge for even a minute too long. But he was feeling merciful—or desperate, like her—because he placed one hand between her shoulders and bent her forward. “I can’t wait that long tonight.”
He flipped the hem of her dress up over her waist, revealing her black knickers. They offered more coverage, since her dress was so short, but he groaned softly like it was the most scandalous thing he’d ever seen. His fingers hooked in the elastic band, and he dragged them down. The cold air against her soaked cunt caused her to shiver, her head falling forward, almost hitting the marble beneath her.
“I bet you’re already ready for me, aren’t you, love?” he asked, one palm smoothing over her arse. She heard the quiet ruffling of his trousers being undone behind her.
“Find out,” she shot back, the words lacking any conviction with the way she whined them.
Instead of responding, his fingers trailed closer to the apex of her thighs until he finally slid them through her cunt. She sighed softly, rocking back towards him. He grunted.
“Gods, you’re so—” he whispered, one long finger sliding inside of her, quickly followed by a second.
“Draco,” she moaned. Even after all this time, his fingers were hardly a stretch for her. She needed more.
“I know, baby,” he breathed. Hermione mourned the loss of his fingers, but only for a second before the blunt head of his cock was pressing against her, gliding through her arousal. Inch by inch, he pushed into her. They both groaned. The fit was tight, the stretch exquisite. He continued forward until his hips were flush against her arse. Before she could even think of begging for him to move, Draco forced an arm underneath her stomach and lifted her up so that her back was against his chest.
His lips brushed her ear. “Tell me I’m it for you.”
“You’re it for me,” she said easily. She tried to shift her hips, but his other hand held her still.
“Tell me again that you love me.”
“I love you. I love you so much,” she stuttered out. “Please, Draco.”
“I got you, love,” he murmured. He lowered her back down to the counter, and his hands moved to her waist. Finally, fucking finally, he began moving, his hips snapping against her arse in earnest. Hermione’s hands curled into fists against the marble, her lips falling open in a string of moans and expletives.
Behind her, Draco was babbling out praises and dirty words, telling her how well she was taking him, how tight she was, how pretty she sounded. And he was telling her that he loved her, in between every other sentence. That alone was enough to bring her close to the edge. She clenched around him, resulting in a groan from deep in his chest. He lifted her back up again so he could slide one hand down between her thighs, his fingers seeking out her clit. Her head fell to the side, exposing her neck, which he instantly took advantage of.
“Close, baby?” he said against her skin. It was a pointless question, because he knew damn well she was. Still, she nodded emphatically. He hummed. “Let go for me, Granger. Let me feel it.”
She grasped blindly at the arm banded around her waist, her hips rocking back against his thrusts. Despite everything else — the feeling of him moving inside of her, his teeth against her skin, his fingers swirling over her clit — the thing that pushed her over the edge was the soft whimper he let out just a few inches below her ear. Her orgasm pulsed through her veins, her body trembling in his hold.
“Fuck,” he grunted, his rhythm faltering as his climax followed her. His grip on her waist tightened as he buried himself inside her one final time. Her hips dug into the counter, her palms flat against the marble to support them. Sweat collected on her brow and her chest, dripping down between her breasts. Her head fell back against him as they both caught their breath.
“I love you,” she whispered before he could say anything.
His head ducked down into the curve of her neck, and she could feel his smile against her skin. Hermione reached back and combed her fingers through his hair, which was also damp with sweat. She hadn’t realized they’d exerted themselves so much, but it certainly didn’t help that they were still almost completely dressed.
“I love you,” he echoed.
“We should shower,” she said.
“I thought you wanted me to take you to bed?”
“I’m sweaty now.”
“I imagine we’ll only work up more of a sweat in bed, no?”
She hummed, biting her lip as she clenched where he was still inside of her. He inhaled sharply, before murmuring darkly, “I also recall something about teasing you. Would be much easier in a bed.”
“Mm, point for shower, then.”
Draco pulled out of her slowly, not even bothering to Scourgify the mess dripping down her thighs. “Too bad,” he said, and pulled her towards the bedroom.