Archive of Our Own

Draco Malfoy sits at his large desk, Potions exams with red marks in a neat pile in front of him, cool eyes regarding Hermione with raised eyebrows. He says, “I don’t understand why people say that I’m the most intimidating professor to work at Hogwarts when you clearly exist.”

Hermione frowns down at him. “Why do you say that?”

Malfoy shrugs. “It’s funny, actually. I wonder if other people get chills when they get notice that Hermione Granger is about to bestow them with her appearance out of the blue.”

“I sent you a message 15 minutes ago. That’s hardly spontaneous.”

His eyebrows remain raised. “One needs more than 15 minutes to get ready for Granger in their office.”

Hermione puts her hands on her hips. “Again, I really don’t know what that means but I’m going to flatter myself and assume it’s good.”

Malfoy leans back in his chair, looking as handsome as ever. Perhaps it’s the clean shave. The clarity of his eyes. The uptick of his mouth. “Of course it’s a good thing. Who wouldn’t want to be intimidating?” He gestures to the seat before her. “Go on.”

Hermione sits down, sighing as she goes when all the muscles in her legs loosen. She hasn’t had the chance to sit down all week. “It’s about Pansy and Harry’s engagement party.”

She sounds grim and hopes he understands how terrible this situation is. If he let her, she’d complain about her whole week actually. How everything has been terrible. How half of her own students have asked for another extension for their papers. How one of her cats has been scratching up the new couch she’s just gotten. How her contact lens ripped inside her eye in the middle of a lecture this morning.

“The one that’s tomorrow, right?” Malfoy asks.

“Right.” She rolls her neck. “The thing is that the venue let me know two hours ago that a small fire broke out in the kitchens and they’ve had to lock the entire place down due to the risks of smoke inhalation.” Hermione gives him an incredulous look. “It’s the only place I could book just last minute anyways, and I was going to wait to tell everyone that it’s a non magic place and--”

“Whoa,” Malfoy says, sitting up. “You were going to send over 100 witches and wizards to a Muggle venue without telling them–”

“Well,” Hermione answers, annoyed that he’s cut her off, “if I had told you that when I booked the venue, would you have come?”

“Absolutely not.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“And by the way, that’s not a pureblood git type of answer. I just mean that my gift to them was going to be spectacular in a magical way. And also, you can’t predict how people with wands are going to behave.”

Hermione frowns, thinking about the gift she’s purchased for the couple. “Wait, what did you get them?”

“I can’t tell you.” Malfoy smirks. “But I can say that it’s the best bloody gift I’ve ever given in my life. And that’s coming from a very long, long history of excellent gifts. I don’t mean to brag, but I’m really good at it. See the trick is–”

Hermione’s suddenly feeling insecure about her gift. “Was yours over five thousand galleons?”

“Try two.”

“Two thousand galleons?”

Malfoy smiles. “Two million.”

What the absolute fuck.

“No,” she whispers in horror, sinking in her chair. “You’re lying.”

“I would never.” He puts a hand over his heart. “How dare you accuse me.”

“Two million galleons? Are you out of your mind?”

“As I’ve said. I’m a master at gift giving, Granger.” Malfoy grins. “And also filthy rich. Get on with your story now.”

She deflates in her seat. “Anyways. Because the venue canceled all events for the next 3 weeks, I’ve spent all morning trying to find a place for tomorrow night. And Ron offered to do what we did for Bill and Fleur, but I don’t know. I want it to be big for Pansy and Harry. And I think Pansy might kill me if I try to do what Ron’s suggesting.”

“What's his idea?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Oh, but I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Try me.”

“You may drop dead, Malfoy.”

He puts his chin against his palm, leaning his elbow onto his desk. “C’mon, Granger.”

Hermione takes a breath before telling him. “Well there was a tent–”

Malfoy holds his hand up. “That’s enough. Thanks.”

“I literally told you–”

“You did. And this was absolutely my fault.” Malfoy actually looks nauseous.

“Right. Pansy would kill me. Throw a fit and all that.”

“Avada you on the spot,” he agrees.

“I asked Theo if he could help me out but he’s doing all those renovations and Blaise hasn’t been answering my owls.”

Malfoy suddenly smiles, no longer looking green. “And now you’ve come to the next rich prick to get him to give up his house for you.”

“Yes,” Hermione says seriously. “And if you say no, we’ll have to use the tent idea.”

“Oh, come on. I’m sure a lot of places would happily accommodate the Golden Girl.” His eyes are sparkling as he says it.

Hermione fidgets. “That’s precisely why I don’t want to ask them. They get all weird about it. They want to hang around just to watch us. It’s strange and they give me all these discounts that just make me feel so bad.”

“Typically people are honored by discounts.”

“It’s not right. I should be paying the same amount.” She shakes her head. “Are you declining? If so, tell me so I can arrange for people to help me with the tent before the work day is over. I’ll have to hunt Blaise down, but I have my suspicions he’s with Ginny anyways and she’ll be an even bigger help. I can’t get Theo because as far as I’m aware, he’s still busy sleeping with half of wizarding London.” Hermione goes to stand. “Well. It won’t be too bad. Perhaps Pansy will only claw one of my eyes out with her nails.”

Malfoy stares past her head, a look of contemplation on his face. But when he speaks it’s clear that he only wishes to dance around the topic for some more time. "Despite not knowing a lot about this tent situation I have to say that the image that is being created in my mind is not one that I would like to see in person. And there is no doubt that what I'm imagining is far more luxurious than it may have been.” He holds his hand up. “You have every right to bash me for being a Pureblood prick for that but from the look on your face I know that I am correct.”

Hermione sits back down, suddenly needing to defend the stupid tent. “It was cozy. And it was very fitting for both the setting and the circumstances around that time.”

Malfoy says, “Sure.” He sits up and fixes his cuffs. For some reason, he’s always forgone his Hogwarts robes when he’s in his office opting for an intimidating yet well tailored black suit and white button down he wears beneath his robes. Today due to the humidity, he’s left in just his white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

And she’d be a liar if she said it wasn’t ridiculously attractive of him.

“Although I am completely honored that you thought of my estate to use for this engagement party I do have to say I am less than displeased to know that you asked two of my other friends before me despite knowing that my house would not only hold more people but is far more decorative than their barren lands.”

 “To be fair,” Hermione argues, “Blaise never answered.”

His eye twitches. “And you asked Theo before me.”

“That was only because I can guilt him into doing stuff for me.” She gives Malfoy a once over. “You’re harder to manipulate.”

“For good reason!”

“If you are declining, I would very much want to know right away so that I can start working with what I have.”

Malfoy sighs. “You are absolutely no fun, Granger. It’s no wonder you live with your cats all alone.”

“What?”

He doesn’t explain. “Let's have this party at my estate. Any arrangements that you need to make, you must know tell me beforehand so that I can prepare.”

She feels whiplash from this conversation. Was he just making fun of her? “Er. Thank you.”

“I do, however, have one condition.”

A scowl immediately takes over her face. “What.” Because of course Draco Malfoy would have a condition. Nothing ever comes from the goodness of his own heart, it seems. There’s always an ulterior motive. Always something brewing behind those beautiful silver–

Malfoy’s face changes to hold an expression she doesn’t immediately recognize. He leans back in his chair and stares past her head again. “I’ll need you to be my date.”

Hermione nearly chokes. Her heart jumps to her throat. “What? Why?”

He tilts his head, glancing back at her. “Because I need one?” As if she’s too slow to understand the simple sentence.

She will not let him make her feel that way. “We’ve saved this date for two months and you still don’t have someone to go with?”

Malfoy shrugs. “Never got the chance to ask anyone.” His eyes narrow. “Come on. Ditch Weasley and be my date instead.”

“What makes you think Ron would be my date?”

His eyebrows raise. “No?”

“No.”

“I see. My condolences.”

“Prick,” she scowls again.

“Did you have a date?” Malfoy asks mildly.

“No. But that’s only because—“

“Don’t think Pansy would forgive you for that either.”

She feels herself redden. “I planned the entire party. I’m sure she won’t care.”

Malfoy spreads his hands wide in an obvious manner. “Well. it seems like you’ve got the answer to both dilemmas. I’ll be your date and I’ll give you my entire place. How’s that sound.”

Hermione leans back, taking him in. He looks genuine, though it’s always hard to tell these days. In their joint friend group, Malfoy’s been the one to be quiet recently, and though he always says that it’s just teaching Potions that takes up all of his time, Hermione’s not all that sure. Whenever she sees him, she suspects he’s holding out on her, refusing to talk to her about important matters or about things that bother him. It hurts her feelings. She really thought they were friends.

“I do want your estate.”

He nods. “Right.”

But Hermione’s never been one to make rash decisions (since leaving school at least). She’s approached her career with slow strides, her adult life with long term agreeable choices. So she stands and adjusts her robes. “I also have a condition.”

He looks at her evenly. His white shirt makes his pale eyes stand out beautifully. “Yes?”

“What did you get for them?”

He laughs. “Nice try.”

“Oh come on. If we’re going together, we may as well bring a joint gift.”

“I’m offended. You’ve offended me.”

“Don’t care. Put my name on the gift and you’ve got yourself a deal.” She crosses her arms, hoping to appear intimidating.

“Might I present a counter offer?”

“Absolutely not.”

He continues, “We’ll present our gifts together and say they’re from both of us. A joint effort.”

“My present will obviously look like mine.”

“That’s the best I’ll do, Granger. You want to steal my–”

“It’s not stealing!” she says.

“--fantastic gift idea then this is all I’ll allow. Be my date and all of that is yours.”

His cool eyes are calculating. He watches as she drops her arms and tightens her hands into fists by her sides. “Fine,” Hermione says.

The smile returns. He answers softly, “Good.”

“Right.”

A weight is lifted off her shoulders. All this just to be Malfoy’s date. She can handle that. She can control her emotions long enough. It’s entirely possible. She’ll arrive with him. Talk with him and then head off with Ginny and Luna to gossip. It’ll be like any other party, won’t it?

“Now I’ll be leaving. I really need to get a hold of Blaise so he knows we’ve moved the whole thing. I’m counting on him for a lot of the decor too. I also need to gather a few hundred owls to resend the invitations. Or I can just–” She’s rambling to herself as she walks away from the desk, but when Malfoy doesn’t offer his (ill placed) advice, she turns to look at him.

Silence from Malfoy is never a good thing, she’s learned.

He looks distracted now, staring past her head at the door again.

“What. What’s the look for?” she groans.

“I was thinking–”

“Well that was your first mistake.”

With a pensive expression, Malfoy says, “I’ll pick you up.”

Why must he complicate so much? “Is that necessary?”

“Let it be a new condition. I’ll even say my gift was your idea.” He spreads his legs wide and leans back in his chair some more. “Easy fix.”

“We’re going to the same place, Malfoy,” she deadpans.

“Yes. Do that or else I’ll–”

Hermione groans. “Again with the emotional blackmail.”

“It’s hardly blackmail,” Malfoy argues, though he doesn’t sound as convinced himself. “I could do so much worse.”

“Thanks for that reminder.”

They stare at each other. Hermione’s trying to wear him down, but Malfoy’s just looking at her. He’s unblinking, face tight with conviction.

Hermione grits her teeth. “Tell me what you’ve bought for them and then I’ll consider it. It better be a fucking phenomenal gift to be worth all this trouble.”

Malfoy shrugs. “I bought them a wardrobe.”

“A…wardrobe?”

“Yes.”

“For two million galleons.”

“And some.”

“Tell me it’s a magical one.”

“Of course it is.”

Hermione waits for him to continue. He does not.

“Don’t you want to guess?” he asks, grinning.

“Er. It’s engraved.”

“Try again.”

“It’s…roomy.”

He sighs, disappointed. “What happened to your imagination, Granger? Did the students do this to you?” 

“It’s been a long day!” she growls. “I’m frazzled!”

“Right. Well.” He doesn’t seem to care much about her complaints. “It’s a wardrobe that deals out outfits the owner is thinking of no matter how extravagant. No matter the fabric or intricate design. Right down to the finest details.”

Hermione thinks she’s going to fall to the floor. And quite possibly pass away. She can’t bring herself to say anything that she doesn’t fear won’t embarrass her. Or give away that nature of her own … less fun gift. 

“I don’t think anyone will be able to top that gift ever,” she says faintly.

He chuckles. “That’s the point.”

“You are so cruel.”

“I’m creative.”

“And wealthy.”

“Absolutely. Why shouldn’t I use it to my advantage? Wouldn't you?”

She’s never had the same types of riches as Malfoy, thus never having thought about it. “Touché.”

“So I shall pick you up quarter to 7.”

Hermione wants to bicker some more with him, but suddenly feels very resigned. She agrees, ignoring Malfoy’s hand for a shake when he thrusts it out. When Malfoy starts smirking and asking her to wear something good, she decides that this conversation has run its course. She turns and then leaves his office, very aware of his cool eyes on her.

***

Malfoy leaves a note for her on her desk after dinner.

His stunning handwriting states,

HG,

Worry not about the decorations after all. We shall be too short on time for it. I have hired decorators to spend the night dealing with the ballroom. Rest well. Expect me at quarter to 7.

Yours, 
DM

***

The next day, Hermione doesn’t hear Malfoy walking around her flat until he’s knocking on the door to her powder room, – where she’s currently cooped up, finally having fixed her eyeliner wings. She thinks they look a little too daunting, but it’s too late to try to amend it now.

She removes her headphones, letting them rest against her collars. When she swings the door open, she nearly drops her walkman.

Malfoy stands before her, one hand in his pocket, leaning against the door frame. He’s in an all black suit, the rich, dark color contrasting beautifully with his pale skin and light hair. His eyebrows raise at the sight of her, eyes skating down the length of her satin dress, shoulders to feet.

Heat blooms across her cheeks. She tries to look away, but his eyes are too exciting, and she enjoys the way his jaw tenses briefly.

“Granger,” he greets quietly, glancing back up at her face. “I Flooed in several minutes ago.”

She blinks, realizing she’s gripping the door too hard. Willing herself to let it go, she gestures to her walkman. “Sorry. Music was too loud.”

“I see.”

“You look good,” she says, unable to help it. “Definitely, ah, engagement party ready.”

Malfoy stares at her for a second too long before the corner of his mouth ticks up and he smirks, shrugging a shoulder. “Thank you. And you as well. Regardless of the – er – weird thing around your neck.” He gestures to the small headphones. 

“Oh. Yeah. It’s a walkman.”

“A what?”

“Walkman. You use it to listen to music.”

“Ah.”

“My music was too loud. I couldn’t hear you come in.”

“Makes sense.” Though he doesn’t seem like he understands. Malfoy stands up straight, glancing down at his watch. “We must be going. It’s not like me to be late. I fear they’ll send a search party for me if I’m even 5 minutes late.”

Hermione snorts. “I assure you they won’t.”

After looking up from his watch, she thinks he’ll have a witty remark to make about his importance at parties, but he merely focuses back at her dress as if he can’t help himself.

Hermione follows his gaze to the hem of the dress. “What? What is it?” Has she stained it with her makeup? She never learned her mistake about wearing the dress after finishing her makeup.

His eyes flicker up at hers. “Granger, if I may.”

“Yeah?”

He brings his hand up to his face and against his jaw, tapping his fingers against his cheek thoughtfully. “That dress.”

A thrill runs up her spine. “Yes?” she says faintly.

“Don’t mind me. It’s quite a dress, and the right attire for a party, however...the color.” He looks at her again, amusement in his eyes. “I’d like to think you know what colors reflect well on you.”

Hermione then frowns, glancing at her dress again. “What’s wrong with it? It’s yellow. It matches me.”

“It certainly is yellow. But the shade is… well.. It’s a bit murky, isn’t it?”

She looks at him as if he’s lost his mind. “Murky,” she repeats, deadpan.

“Yes.” He steps closer, almost prowling. “It’s a lovely dress.” His eyes darken. “Very lovely. However, the color.” His hand slips into his jacket. “Do you mind if I…”

Reality washes over her. There’s no way Malfoy was going to compliment her. She should have known. Hermione scowls, drawing back from him. “Of course I mind! I’m not insulting you on what you’re wearing! It’s a terrible funeral-like suit, actually. Now get out of my room before I send you to the party alone.”

That of course would mean she’d be showing up with a subpar present and lack of a date, but it’s better than being insulted like this!

“I didn’t mean it like that, Granger,” Malfoy says innocently, removing his wand. “Trust me. Let me do this and if you don’t like it, we can change it back. I’m doing this for you.”

“Doing this for me?!” she all but screeches. “Put your bloody wand away!”

“Granger,” he says. Steps closer. “Trust me. What if you see a man there who’s attracted to you and can’t bring himself to talk to you just because of that ghastly–

“Ghastly!”

“--dress? I’m doing this for you!”

He keeps walking towards her, his wand outstretched. She continues to walk backwards until the counter hits her waist and she’s effectively cornered.

“Don’t come any nearer,” Hermione threatens, appalled to see Malfoy’s eyes fill with delight.

He does indeed step closer, the last move he can make and just as close as he can get, and then he’s holding his wand up. “You can change it back,” he insists softly. “Just let me. Trust me.”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Malfoy!”

“It’s hypothetical. Look.”

The tip of his wand touches the dress at her right side, just barely poking her ribs. The color flourished, the dress turning from yellow (that she really does stand by!) to a navy blue color.

He looks accomplished, though he doesn’t take his wand away. “Look. How nice.”

“I don’t like it,” she hisses immediately. “I’m wearing gold jewelry. It doesn't match! We’re going to be here all night if I have to try to find silver.”

“Not a problem.” He changes the dress to black.

“I’m not going to the funeral with you!”

With a glint in his eye, he taps his wand against her ribs, and the dress takes another color. He glances down at her, the smirk returning to his face.

Emerald green takes over her dress, starting from the hem, traveling up slowly to her neckline and then the thin straps.

Well. It certainly makes her pause.

And cause her heart rate to spike.

Malfoy pulls the wand away, finally taking a step back. He looks smug, satisfied. She turns her head to look into her full body mirror, her eyes widening.

Flashes of memory suddenly rush back to her. Hermione in her years at Hogwarts admiring the Slytherin uniforms as groups of students walked by. Pansy Parkinson in her robes, arm in arm with Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott. How they exuded power. The dark green. The silver. How she always loved the shade over her red and gold, despite her loyalties to her family. 

She remembers it all at once, as if she buried the thoughts away a long time ago.

Hermione thinking the cool tones would look better on her despite her giddiness of being sorted into Gryffindor in year 1.

Hermione grazing her hand over the Slytherin robes as she shopped for new uniforms with her parents in Diagon Alley in year 2. 

Hermione watching Milicent Bulstrode fix her green and silver scarf in the middle of Herbology in year 3.

Hermione watching Blaise Zabini fiddle with the sleeves of his green sweater from across the library one frightful winter during year 4.

Hermione running into Daphne Greengrass and Draco Malfoy making out outside the Great Hall in year 5, Malfoy’s green tie wrapped around her pale fist.

Hermione wanting to leave Malfoy’s room in the quiet hours of the night in only his uniform in year 6 so that everyone would know–

And that is precisely why she’s forced the memories away. Because of Malfoy. And that’s why this arrangement has bothered her so far. It’s just him. His existence. His power over her.

Her heart thunders as Malfoy looms over behind her. His eyes are set. He knows.

No. He can’t know.

Or rather, how does he not know? After all that she’s–

She returns her focus to the dress. Merlin, does the change actually work.

The gold of her jewelry and the dark green colors mix very well, accentuating the shadows of her eyes, the semi dark pink lip gloss on her mouth. The cut of her severe eyeliner.

But then again. The color. It’s–

“It’s green,” Hermione manages, looking at him through the mirror. She nearly shivers when she sees him drinking her in, now leaning against the counter. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, eyed hooded. “This is ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” he challenges, tucking his wand away. “What’s ridiculous about it?”

“I mean, how obvious can it get?”

But it looks so very flattering. Far more than the previous 3 colors. 

She’d always known she’d look good in dark green. The thought almost makes her smile.

“What,” Malfoy asks carefully, “is obvious? I apologize, but I cannot understand what you’re running circles around, Granger.”

Curse him, the ever frustrating man.

Her eyebrows arch at him. “I’m sure Harry will keel over. And Theo will think we’re…we’re…”

“We’re what?”

“Sleeping together!” Her face burns. “I cannot show up in Slytherin green!”

“Is it?” he interrupts, biting his inner cheek. “Is it actually Slytherin green?”

“Doesn't matter if it’s the actual shade.” Why doesn’t he understand the point? Hermione runs a hand over her slip dress, down to the slit by her mid tight. “It’s green anyhow.”

“Granger.” Malfoy’s voice has taken on a new tone. “It’s just a color. And you know it looks good.”

“You know damn well it’s not just the color. And it doesn’t matter how good it looks!”

“Granger.”

She glares at him. “I’m going to change it back to yellow.”

“Before you do. Look.”

His hand in his jacket again, and this time, he withdraws a small velvet box. His long, pale fingers open it to reveal a jewelry set, dainty and likely ridiculously expensive. He looks smug again as if he’s thought about everything. 

Hermione stares down at the emerald necklace and earrings. “No.”

“Oh yes,” he murmurs. “It goes very well–”

“This is too much. This is way too much, Malfoy. You couldn’t have–” She glances up at him. “You’d known it would–”

“Of course,” he says firmly, leaning down closer to her. “I’ve always known.”

Her breath hitches. He’s so unbearably handsome. She can’t say no to him, for Merlin’s sake. She can’t even look away.

“Allow me,” he says, resting the box on the counter.

“Oh, no that’s quite all right. I don’t think I can–”

“I insist,” he says sternly, causing a wave of electricity to slither down her spine. She shuts her mouth immediately. “You’re showing up with me. I want us both to look the best at that party.”

“But it looks so–”

“Expensive, yes. Because it is. Now. Turn around. I’m already annoyed at how late we are. You cannot say no to me.” He really does sound impatient.

When she doesn’t turn to face the mirror, he walks behind her and carefully plucks off the abandoned headphones, laying them on the counter. “Hold your hair.”

His voice is so deliciously close. Her hands move to do as he says immediately, gathering her hair. It's in a half updo already, not unlike her hair at the Yule Ball in year 4, but with more of her curls framing her face. It’s easy to hold it all out of the way.

Malfoy’s fingers graze her neck as he lays the emerald necklace onto her neck. She watches him in the mirror, his focused eyes fixing the latch of the necklace before glancing up into the mirror as well. When their eyes meet, she shivers. His fingers are warm. Soft.

“I trust,” he says moments after, “that you can put the earrings on yourself?”

Hermione swallows. “Yes.” The thank you dies on her tongue when Malfoy moves back and heads to the door. He leans against the jamb and then glances down at his watch. Clearly the excitement she feels with him so near isn’t reciprocated.

With that in mind, she picks up the earrings, admiring them for several long moments before tilting her head either way to put them on.

“Ten minutes late,” Malfoy says, holding his arm out once she has her heels on. “To a party that I’m hosting.”

Hermione wraps her arm around his. “Technically, I’m hosting.”

He slants her a sardonic look. And then he apparates them.

***

Hermione forgets why she didn’t ask Malfoy for his manor first. The way he’s decorated it… the elegance of it all. Her jaw is on the floor.

Malfoy removes his arm from her and smirks. “Regret asking Theo and Blaise, don’t you, Granger?”

“This is…this is incredible. Why didn’t you offer to host the first time around?”

“Maybe I’m an arrogant bastard that needs to be asked.”

The ballroom (Malfoy has a ballroom!) is glimmering with gold, from the heavy chandelier above their heads, to the carpet leading them. Flutes of champagne are ready on the tables dusted with gold, and shimmers fall from the sky. Hermione gapes at it all. 

“Thoughts?” Malfoy says, retrieving a flute for her.

She takes a sip. “You’re horrifically wealthy.”

“That I am.”

“And this is the best champagne I’ve ever had in my life.”

He laughs.

The party starts when Harry and Pansy show up. Pansy’s eyes are sparkling from the lights and the tears, her grip on Harry’s arm so tight, Hermione thinks she’s trying not to fall to the floor.

Blaise enters with Ginny on his arm. He gives Hermione a hug, and Ginny gives Hermione a kiss. They’re such a striking couple: both tall and powerful. Ginny’s long hair brushes against her back elegantly, her smile pretty and bright. She wears a sleeveless maroon dress that compliments her well. Blaise stands in his white shirt and trousers, having forgotten the jacket. In fact, he’s ditched the top two buttons of his shirt, leaving room for a silver necklace to peek through against his chest. Ginny wears a similar one. 

The guests continue to arrive. Neville with Hannah Abbott, Ron (who walks in with Lavender Brown – and Hermione is not at all surprised), a handful of Ravenclaws, and plenty of the others. The Boy Who Lived’s engagement party was something to anticipate for all these witches and wizards. 

As Hermione does a round, she thanks the guests for arriving on short notice. But what she’s noticed is all the starry eyed gazes at Malfoy’s ballroom. They barely give her an answer, drinking their expensive champagne and trying lavish appetizers. Malfoy’s certainly gone all out and the guests appreciate it. Hermione almost feels bad for originally hosting it in her other location.

After her circle, she meets with Harry and Pansy. And then she finds Malfoy talking to Blaise and Ginny, one hand in his pocket, the other moving as he talks. From afar, he towers over several people, just meeting Blaise’s eye level. Often, Malfoy has to lean down to hear Ginny properly. He turns his head so she can talk in his ear, and that’s when his eyes find hers.

He makes a motion with his head, summoning her. Nerves erupt in her stomach from the small movement. It’s something so insignificant, yet the tilt of his chin, and the smirk on his lips get her moving. She walks to them.

“There are people here,” Hermione says, “that I didn’t think I extended an invitation to.”

Malfoy says, “Well, it’s Potter’s party. Of course they’d come.”

“Er, I think it also has to do with the fact that it’s at your estate. Most people don’t get to see the inside of Malfoy Manor.”

He visibly considers this. “Very true.”

“I was just thanking Malfoy for offering his house. You really pulled us out of a pickle,” Ginny says. “I hope Blaise and I can host events like you guys too. The renovations have been…slow.”

Blaise wraps his arm around her. “Soon, though. We’ll have a big party.”

“Definitely,” Hermione says. “Have you guys heard from Theo, by the way? I’ve been sending him messages and I don’t know if he’s lost or ignoring me.”

“Ah,” Blaise says. “He may be ignoring you.”

“What? Why?”

Malfoy says, “Theodore has seemed to find himself a bird to be occupied with. Although he promised me he’d be in attendance tonight, though late. I think he travels far to meet his woman – hence why none of us have met her.”

“Also because you accused her of being mythical,” Blaise says.

“That too.”

Hermione blinks. “Theo has a girlfriend? Have pigs started to fly?”

All the purebloods before her wrinkle their nose. “What?” Blaise says.

“Never mind.” Back to what’s important. “Who is this girlfriend? Did we go to school with her? Does she work at the Ministry? Is it Luna? Because I just saw her and I can totally go interrogate–”

“It’s not Lovegood,” Blaise interjects, shrugging a shoulder. “We’ve got a pretty good handle on who it’s not. He’s very vocal about telling us that at least.”

Hermione crosses her arms. “I’ll ask him when he shows up.”

“Did you know,” Malfoy says casually, “that Granger here is the most feared professor at Hogwarts currently?”

Hermione turns her eyes to him. “I am not! Why would you say that?”

“I’m only saying that if there’s someone to interrogate Theo, it’s good that it’ll be you.” Malfoy smiles faintly. “In fact, if you look at him exactly like you’re looking at me–”

Her eyes narrow. “I’m not looking at you like anything.”

Malfoy leans down to speak to her, and she realizes that he does it differently to her than he’s done it to Ginny. He’s mocking her height. “On the contrary, you look very–”

“We’re going to get some more drinks,” Ginny says. She’s gripping Blaise’s arm very tightly, already moving away before she’s done talking. She levels a look at Malfoy, which Malfoy responds to with a tiny nod, and then leaves.

“I don’t like when my friends have inside jokes without me.”

Malfoy glances at her. “Friends now, are we?”

Her eyes narrow again. “You’ve lent me jewelry that probably costs 50,000 galleons.”

“Lent?” His gaze dips down to the emerald necklace. “I sure hope you don’t intend to return that back to me.”

Hermione’s heart drops. “I’m not keeping them.”

He sticks his hands back into his pockets. “Why not?”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“What do you mean–”

“Oh, there’s Theo.” His eyes focus behind her.

And curse him for taking her attention away. She turns to find Theo walking towards them, grinning from ear to ear. He’s already holding champagne, and he raises the flute in the air.

“My friends!”

Despite Harry and Pansy being a couple, and despite Blaise and Ginny being a couple, it was Theo that was the glue, binding the Slytherins with the Griffyndors. He’d hosted a dinner at his house and invited Blaise, Hermione, Ginny, Pansy, and Malfoy. It was the first time she had a conversation with Malfoy, and it was that night that she found out that Malfoy would be joining Hogwarts as the Potions professor in the upcoming school year.

“Where have you been?” Malfoy asks, raising his eyebrows. “We’ve got an interrogator ready to dig into your soul.”

Hermione glares at him. “I’m not–”

Theo places a hand over his head. “My darling Granger. As flattered as I am, I must decline this invitation. I would like to happily tell you that I’m being interrogated by another lovely woman.”

She reddens. “That’s not–!”

Malfoy clicks his tongue, hand brushing against Hermione’s bare elbow. “See. You got your answer and you didn’t even need to harass him.”

“I wasn’t–”

Theo has the gall to look misty eyed. “You were going to harrass me?”

“Shut up!”

“I’m afraid I’ve given harassing rights to my girl.”

Malfoy gives her a look. “And now you got the poor bloke blushing.”

Hermione growls and steps away. “I cannot deal with you!” And she turns to walk off. She hears the quiet laughter of Malfoy and Theo behind her, and she’s glad they don’t follow her.

She goes to mingle with more guests before cake is served.

***

Theo meets Granger after her toast, holding his glass up. “Eloquent, as usual.”

She smiles at him. “Not as enthralling as yours, I fear.”

“Nobody can get on my level. It’s not you.”

Theo’s toast had been riddled with jabs and jokes. He had made the guests cry with laughter. Hers made them cry with emotion. Even Blaise had pressed his handkerchief against the corner of his eye.

Theo bumps his shoulder against hers. “Hey.”

“Hey back.”

“Can I be blunt?”

“As if you’re ever anything else.”

Theo takes a sip, leaning back against the window sill. He crosses his ankles in front of him, a picture of relaxation. Hermione realizes that Theo rarely ever stands upright.

“It’s about Draco.”

Her eyes immediately go to Malfoy standing with Pansy by the towering cake. “Is it?”

“Quite. He seems to find himself in a dilemma.”

“And what’s that?”

She’s not that interested. So she has to sound uninterested. She thinks she’s done a great job of–

“He wants to shag you.”

Hermione nearly drops her glass as she whirls around to glare at Theo. “Excuse me?” she hisses. “What the hell is wrong with–”

“Oh come off it, Granger. I’m only telling you because I know you want to shag him too.”

“I most certainly do not! And lower your voice!”

Theo’s smile is dazzling. “Not that you need to, but you can confide in me. Though I’m not blind. I can see it. Potter can see it. Pansy, Blaise, G–”

Hermione wants to slap a hand across his mouth. “Shut up!”

“Why?” He’s grinning. “I’m only stating the obvious. I’m telling you that I’ll be more than happy to cover for you if you’d like to go and have a quickie in the bathroom. Or his room, if you’re that type of woman. Dunno if you are. I’d lean towards no.”

“Get away from me.”

Theo does not, in fact, get away from her. He only lays a hand on her shoulder and sighs melodramatically. “If you admit that you’re interested in a shag with the finest Slytherin, present company excluded, I’ll tell you who I’ve been seeing myself.”

That gets her. It’s not that she’s over eager to learn about Theo’s love life, but he used to share plenty with her before. It’s a betrayal if anything.

Hermione looks at Malfoy again. His eyes move away from hers immediately and her body heats. 

But is it worth it?

Theo’s balancing himself on the balls of his feet, and Hermione finds her interest is piqued. She thinks about it: admitting something like that won’t make it reality. And Theo knows that he’d sooner die than tell Malfoy a private conversation between him and Hermione.

So Hermione bites. “Yeah.”

Theo’s eyes shine. “Yeah, what?”

“I’m agreeing.”

“About what?”

She scowls. “You know what.”

“I don't know what.”

“I’ll kill you.”

Theo laughs charmingly, tucking a hand into his pocket. “All right. Well, it's a confession, no matter how vague. I’ll tell you. She’s a Muggle.”

Hermione pauses. “Who’s a Muggle?”

“My girl, of course.”

What sudden whiplash. “Your…girl?”

“Yeah. That’s why you haven’t met her. It’s hard to bring her around to all these things, yeah? It’ll be too shocking. Even though I’ve been telling her all about–”

Hermione raises a hand. “Whoa whoa. You’ve told her about the wizarding world?”

Theo snorts. “Of course. That’s not something I’d be holding from her. I work at the Ministry. There should be an explanation for how I get money.”

“You–you’ve been going into Muggle London?”

“It’s a nice place.” Theo shrugs. “After the war, it was the only quiet place so I’d go a lot. Meet people. But she’s the first Muggle I’ve dated.”

From the change in Theo’s tone, Hermione knows that he’s genuine. The almost starry look in his eye confirms it.

So she holds her hand out. “This was a good trade off, Theodore.”

Theo grins, shaking her hand. “A confession for a confession. This is why you’re my favorite.” He pulls her in for a hug and then pulls away quietly, “If you want me to cover for you and Draco while you shag, I got you.”

Hermione immediately pushes him off. “I’m leaving.”

And she does. Though she’s done her rounds through the room already, there’s nobody left she needs to talk to. So she ends up by her date, who’s talking to some people from the Ministry. He glances down at her and gives her a slight nod. She immerses herself into the conversation.

When it’s over, the Ministry officials walk away, and Malfoy sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “One thing I never liked about parties. Why do we have to stand around all the time? I’d kill to sit down. It’s been hours.”

Hermione looks around at all the occupied people. “I don’t think anyone would notice.”

“So flattering, Granger. People would miss me at my own party.”

“Good thing it’s not your party.”

“So what do you suggest we do?”

Hermione looks back at him. Shrugs. “I don’t know. Wanna give me a tour?”

Malfoy seems to like the idea. He nods and straights his back. “Yeah, that’ll kill time. Here. let’s go.”

And so Malfoy begins to lead her around the estate, or at least one wing of it.

He shows her the drawing rooms with their newly restored walls, the guest rooms with their own vanities and large closets, the newly furnished kitchen, powder rooms, and finally leads her to a hallway that's devoid of anything but a door at the end.

Hermione previously worried about being here after the war, but the place looks nothing like what she remembers. The dark, gloomy corridors are gone, now open with windows, beautiful chandeliers, and silver accents. (Near the windows, he frowns down at her shivering form and he takes his blazer off, draping it over her shoulders. It warms Hermione more than necessary).

It doesn’t seem barren – not like how it was when was here when she was a teenager. No, now it’s warm. Perhaps even lively.

“And then down there,” Malfoy is saying, “is my room. That's all there is for now. The other side is still getting renovations and I think that’ll be done sometime in the next few months. Mother and Father have been staying with some relatives so it’s why they’ve not popped up out of the shadows. I know you’re afraid of them.”

“I’m not afraid,” Hermione says absently, looking at his dark door.

“Sure.”

Hermione glances at him, biting the inside of her lip.

Theo’s words echo in her head. Perhaps he knows that much about Malfoy because they've spoken about it before. Perhaps Malfoy has entrusted him with the knowledge of the attraction he feels towards her. 

Or Theo’s just messing with her. 

But her own truth remains: her heart has sped considerably since being alone with him, being led around with the gentle tug at her elbow. And the way it did in her own powder room. And the way it always did since he started teaching at Hogwarts. 

And the way he’s looking at her now… is this her chance?

“Will you show me your room?”

Malfoy stares at her for a second too long. She looks away as he says, “Sure. Come.”

He walks in front of her, stopping before he reaches for the handle. He looks back at her, something else in his eyes. Something that makes her shiver. 

Then he opens the door. 

Malfoy’s hand grazes her back as he steps into the room before her, holding an arm out to welcome her in. She enters, glancing behind when Malfoy moves to shut the door and then throws her a look when he locks it.

The sound startles her heart, but she tries to remain calm. Visibly at least. 

Her heels make a satisfying noise against the wood as she walks around in a circle. Takes a deep breath to calm her nerves. It’s not working.

“It’s nice,” Hermione says, clutching his blazer firmly to her chest. It’s difficult to find the right words to say. “Very you.”

Malfoy turns and leans against his door, crossing his arms. Despite the dark, Hermione can see the outline of his biceps. “What makes you say that?”

She gestures to the dark walls, matching dark grey sheets on his (too large) bed, and dim lights from the lamps by his side tables. His bookshelf holds several large books which she’s eager to take a look at, but first she’d like to prove her point. “I couldn't imagine a room that looked anything less than this. Though I would have expected a Slytherin flag here or there.”

Malfoy pushes himself off the door. “We’ve been out of school for 7 years now, Granger. Why would I care so much?”

She gives him a look. “You made me wear this.”

He has the audacity to grin. “Ah, but I just think it’s your color.”

“I prefer to wear neutral colors.”

“That much I know. With your brown skirts beneath your robes, black turtlenecks, black boots.” He shakes his head. “I merely wanted to show you a different shade.”

“You seem to keep quite the eye on me, Malfoy.”

He doesn’t reply.

She walks to his books then, unable to keep herself from them. Hermione is delightfully surprised to not only find Potions textbooks, but regular fiction from famous wizarding writers. She feels him behind her and suddenly his shadow swallows her body. He braces a hand against the bookshelf.

Hermione removes a book from the top shelf, flipping it open immediately. “A first edition.”

“You’ll find that a lot of them are.”

“Pureblood prick.”

Malfoy chuckles quietly. “Pretty impressive, hm?” he murmurs. His voice has dropped, barely a rumble from his throat. “Does it rival yours?”

Hermione turns her head to look at him ever so slightly. “Never.”

His eyes meet hers, and the hesitation is clear in them.

The tension is apparent.

She watches his hand move, and it reaches until it’s in limbo between their bodies. Her eyes flicker back up at him and she takes a breath. His head dips lower, a question in his eyes now. 

Hermione looks at his mouth, her breath caught in her throat. She nods, just barely. But he sees it. 

His concentration on her thrills her. Warms her immediately.  She steps forward so his hand touches her waist. 

He gently turns her over to face him properly. She puts the book back and allows him to move her. As she’s leaning in for a kiss, she watches Malfoy’s eyes flutter shut.

“Granger. This alright?” His voice is barely above a whisper.

“Yes. Please.”

His mouth is gentle and warm, the press of his body against hers comforting despite this being a first encounter. His hair is soft against her forehead, her body dipped back just slightly to accommodate Malfoy leaning down to make up for their height difference. His hand is firm on her waist now. He tastes like mint, and she wonders when he slipped it into his mouth during the night.

And then it hits her.

Hermione’s kissing Malfoy.

She’s kissing Draco fucking Malfoy.

Malfoy slowly stands back up, dragging his lips away from hers. He’s breathing a little hard, her own lips parted as she tries to catch her breath.

His silver eyes reach hers, cocking his head in a question.

She nods in response.

He moves back, tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth.

There’s no going back from this now. Her body feels ignited, a low thrum of pleasure in her lower belly. And the way he’s looking at her… the way he’s looking at her.

She inhales sharply and clears her throat, knowing her face is probably red. The reminder of the locked door and his hesitant eyes makes her smile when she turns away. He’d been hoping for this too.

Then, the sight of a book on his side table catches her. It’s open and face down as if he was reading just before she came in. Hermione pauses. 

“Your attention span,” Malfoy whispers against her cheek, “is laughable.”

“I want to see what you were reading.”

Hermione has always said that one can learn tremendously about a person by analyzing their choice of literature when at their leisure. Malfoy’s been acting too out of character tonight. She needs a hint to remind herself that he’s just the old Malfoy she teaches alongside. That all this new behavior is just an act. It’ll soothe her.

Thus she hopes he’s reading something terrible, some anti-feminist literature that he’ll argue is satirical.

Malfoy glances behind him. Then he takes her hand and begins to walk her to his bed.

He sits closest to his pillows and then tugs her down with him, causing her to end up nearly sprawled in his lap. The force of it makes his jacket fall from her arms onto his floor, but with a wave of his hand, he fixes it by floating it over to his closet. Hermione catches a glimpse of this neat clothing all in a row before the closet door closes, but just the peek erupts her with emotions. She wants to look through his closet, wanting to know everything about it. She wants to peruse his room with time on her hands, run her hands across his desk. Shuffle through his–

Malfoy picks up the book.

Hermione frowns at the beat up copy of Maurice. “A Muggle book?”

Malfoy leans back on his palms. “I find that Muggles write the same English that Wizards do.”

“It’s so used.” She takes it from him, thumbing through the pages. “You’ve had it for a long time, I imagine.”

“Yes. Since I was 16 actually.”

“I’ve read this book.”

“Of course.”

“It’s very good. Are you rereading?”

“Yes. I find myself reading it at least once a year.” Malfoy then leans over and plucks the book out of her hands. “But, Granger, I didn’t bring you to my room to glance through my books, now did I?” He carelessly tosses the book back onto the side table.

Suddenly flushed, heat travels over her body with an alarming rate. “No.”

Malfoy slides his hands over her back, curling around her waist. The air suddenly shifts.

“Come. Is that all right?”

When he talks like that, his voice drops a few octaves, but his eyes remain soft. 

“Yes,” Hermione answers, swallowing.

He coaxes her forward, opening his legs wider when he encourages her to sit in his lap, knees on either side of his waist. He releases her and leans back on his hands again, looking at her with his chin tilted back. He’s undone the top two buttons of his shirt, pale skin underneath tantalizing her.

He looks up at her. “Hi.”

She’s definitely more nervous than him. “Hi.”

Hermione only manages to keep her hands in her lap for a few seconds before she’s adjusting herself, putting them on his forearms, then moving them up to his biceps, and then finally his shoulders.

“I find it hard to believe that this wasn’t planned,” he says, looking at her through his lashes.

She pushes herself closer, and, upon doing so, watches Malfoy’s jaw tighten just for a brief moment. Confidence bursts through her.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You lured me into my own room.”

“No, you gave me a tour.”

Malfoy laughs softly, and the sound stuns her. “With innocent intentions.”

“You made me wear green.”

“Ah, I didn’t make you do that.”

“You made me be your date.”

“Please. You were dying to be my date.”

When he leans in and kisses her, it’s different from how he’d done it a minute ago. Back there, it was experimental, the brief touch of his lips a question to see if she would want it. That much she could tell. She’s had a few kisses like that, men too worried that she’ll turn them away or, even worse, break in their hands.

Now, his lips are experienced, precise, and his tongue skilled. He pushes himself off the bed entirely and uses his now free hand to cup her burning skin, thumb at her jaw while the other curls itself into her hair. She gasps when he tightens his fingers around her hair and tugs. It’s not a hard yank, but it’s enough to make her whimper and gaze at him with wide eyes.

Malfoy pushes his front against her. “Fuck’s sake. Don’t do that, Granger.”

“You’ve done it, not me,” she argues back, gripping his shirt tightly. “Pulling my hair like that.”

“I’ve always wanted to, that’s why.”

Her breath stutters. “Really?”

“Of course,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing ever. “Just look at you.” He pulls on her hair again, causing a whine to escape her. Her head is tilted back and he uses the opportunity to kiss her throat. “I think you like it more than I do.”

“Untrue.” But she presses herself closer to him and kisses his mouth feverishly again, dragging her own hands into his perfect hair. Despite the well styled look with what she imagines is copious amounts of pomade, Malfoy’s hair is ridiculously soft, slipping through her fingers with ease until she tightens her knuckles. He chuckles against her mouth.

“I’d always want to make a comment about your hair,” he whispers. “Never seemed to get the right words out. Was always rude in school, too awkward at work.”

Malfoy drags his mouth away and dips his head, beginning to venture lower with his kisses. Down her jaw, her throat, her neck. Hermione shivers, not realizing she’s gently grinding herself down on him until he’s gripping her hips with a growl from his throat and tugging her closer.

“Sorry,” she whispers suddenly, gasping at the hold on her waist. “I didn’t–”

“Don’t,” Malfoy whispers under his breath, tilting her head back up to kiss her hard. The hands on her waist become firm. “Don’t apologize.”

Hermione looks down at his large hands on her body, the pale skin contrasting perfectly with the dark dress. Through the thin fabric, she can feel the heat of him, and eager to have him on her bare skin, she pushes away from him.

He looks worried. Then confused. Then–

Standing before him, she begins to take her dress off, hands reaching for the zipper on the back.

Malfoy’s chest rises and falls fast. He holds a hand out immediately to stop her.

“Wait.” It’s a quiet command, a stern voice in the silence. Hermione freezes at the order.

He stares at her for a moment, his jaw tight, as if he’s memorizing her.

“Let me.”

And fuck.

Hermione pulls her hands away from her body.

Malfoy slowly stands, keeping his eyes on her as he stalks around her. His light hands trail to the back of her dress, fingers catching the zipper with ease. As he’s pulling the zipper down, his lips touch her bare shoulder, kissing sensually. Heat pools in her lower stomach, traveling between her legs.

It’s all too erotic. It’s hard to breathe.

Just before the dress falls from her body. Hermione catches it instinctively and keeps it up against her chest.

Malfoy walks back around her, his eyes nothing less than predatory. He sits back on his bed, spreading his palms wide behind him, legs open.

“Let me see you,” he says. Commands. “All of you.”

She groans inwardly, too aroused to even take a breath. Hermione moves her arms. The dress falls to the ground.

Malfoy’s eyes darken, and she hears his breath hitch. “Fuck,” he draws out.

Hermione shivers with delight when his warm hands touch her waist, carefully drawing her closer to his clothed body. She stands between his legs. Something about him still wearing all his clothes and her being just down to her underwear makes her twitch. His hands are big around her hips, his eyes all over her body. From her legs to her thighs, her hips, her torso, her neck.

It takes Malfoy a long time to recover, during which Hermione trembles excitedly beneath his heavy gaze. She swallows pins and needles in her throat when his fingers ghost over her ribs, under the swell of her breasts. He leans down and kisses her collarbones, trailing his lips between her breasts, muttering against her skin, “You have no fucking idea, Granger.”

Hermione can’t help but blissfully moan when his lips wrap around her nipple. She arches her back in a way she knows she’ll be embarrassed about in the morning. But she cares little about it now. Because Draco Malfoy’s mouth is on her. And that’s all she can care about.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders. Malfoy wastes no time twisting them over, Hermione landing on her back against his soft mattress. 

Her eyes widen with delight, hair fanned over his ridiculously comfortable pillow. “Oh.”

Malfoy hovers over her, his own perfect hair falling into his eyes. 

“You,” he whispers, pressing kisses to her neck, “drive me fucking insane, Granger.” 

“I-I don’t–” She gasps when he nudges her legs open, wedging a knee between. Pleasure shoots up her body. She has to restrain herself from shifting her hips against his muscle. “Fuck,” she whispers, head falling back.

Malfoy taps her bottom lip with his thumb. “What a sound, Granger. You should swear more often.”

Hermione swallows, watching him carefully for any signs of discomfort when she presses herself down against him. A short lived cry galls from her mouth. He stills. She grips his shoulders.

However just before he leans down for a kiss, he pauses and pulls away, sitting back on his heels. She watches hungrily as he begins to unbutton his shirt, the dark material giving way to his pale skin.

His quick fingers continue down. He smirks.Then finally when the material falls away to the bed, he leans back down.

Hermione places her hands tentatively on his lower stomach, feeling the ripple of muscles tighten under her fingertips. Malfoy shudders from her touch, but doesn’t do anything to stop her wandering hands when they begin to travel up. She traces his chest, his collar bones, and his bare arms as he ducks his head to kiss her feverishly into the bed.

Her legs are pushed further open, a hard thigh between her legs again.

This time, his hands are anything but conservative. They roam over her torso, her back, and her thighs. Manually, Malfoy wraps her legs around him. He presses his clothed cock against her, makes her whimper and grip him tighter.

“Granger,” Malfoy whispers. 

She blinks her eyes open.

“Gonna let me fuck you?”

Hermione gasps, a scarlet flush over her skin. Her body arches against him long before she’s nodding her head, answering, “Yes. Yes, yes.”

Malfoy reaches for his belt. “Good girl.”

And fuck.

Hermione visibly melts at the words. He takes notice immediately.

“Of course you like that,” he murmurs, sitting back again to remove his belt. It slides off the bed and onto the ground. 

She watches as he undoes his button and zipper. He stands to remove his trousers. Hermione can’t look away from the bulge under his black briefs.

“I knew you would. Even in school when I watched you raise your hand before the professors could even ask a question. The way you smiled when you were told you were correct. Knew then that you’d love to be praised. Isn’t that right?”

Hermione wants to say no, but Malfoy would see right through that lie.

“Yes,” she manages to answer. 

“But nobody ever praised you right,” he says. “It’s a shame.” He holds her chin, pulling her head up. “Nobody’s ever fucked you right either, I imagine.”

Hermione squeezes her legs together, whimpering into his mouth. “You– you can’t just say things like that.”

“No?” Malfoy sounds very amused. “Are you telling me I’m wrong?”

She swallows roughly. “No.” Pathetically, she raises her hips for any kind of friction.

Malfoy looks at her with sympathy. He kisses her once more, a bruising one left on her mouth, and then drags softer kisses down her body. He stops at her breasts, spending a lot of time kissing, tugging, and sucking which leaves her reeling, whining against him. The heat between her legs is getting unbearable. If she isn’t touched soon–

Her hands tangle in his hair again. Malfoy makes satisfied noises from the back of his throat, and then travels lower. And lower.

And lower.

Until he’s at her hips with his kisses and suddenly staring up at her through his lashes. His large hands hold her legs open. 

“Gonna let me have a taste?” he whispers, nipping the inside of her thigh. 

Hermione throws her head back. “Fuck. Yes. Yes, please.”

“Please?” Malfoy chuckles. “How sweet.” 

His fingers dip into the waistband of her panties, gently removing them. “I’m going to show you what you’ve been missing. What you’ve been needing.”

Malfoy wastes no time at all. One second he’s slotting himself between her legs and yanking her closer, and then next, his mouth is on her. Hermione jolts, barely swallowing a whimper when his tongue swipes over her, warm and wet.

Her hands fly out to grab onto his soft hair. She groans. He’s relentless on her, fingers likely to leave imprints on her thighs.

He raises his head moments later to grin at her. “Yeah?”

“Just don’t stop,” she whispers.

“I hear you.” And then he delves back in and doesn’t stop again until her thighs are shaking around his head. His clear eyes glance up at her, pleasure pinched onto her face. The tension in her body feels light years away, all the thoughts vanish, especially when he slowly presses two fingers into her, pulling back just enough to watch her reaction.

He kisses her right thigh – as if it’s a reward. “So good, Granger. Taking it so well, aren’t you?”

She gasps at the intrusion, welcoming him immediately. His fingers are thin and long, the perfect length to reach the spot inside of her she’s never been able to. And she can tell by the smirk on his face that he knows this, even though he has yet to comment on it. She closes her eyes and tilts her head back when his mouth is on her again, and succumbs to the pleasure.

A new type of tension begins to build, one unlike she’s ever felt with any other person in bed with her, and soon her thighs are trembling again and Malfoy, the ever attentive man, doesn’t stop or slow down, having found space perfect for the post of the. Her hands grip his hair tightly, caring little about the ache in her knuckles or the health of Malfoy’s hair after this. What matters is now – the feeling in her lower stomach, the way she feels ready to explode.

“Go on, Granger,” Malfoy murmurs, his mouth still pressed against her. “I can feel it. Give it to me. Give it to me, please.”

The words throw her over. Quite violently, actually. Her high crashes and tumbles and aches until it’s over and her throat hurts the slightest. Malfoy’s hand gently rests over hers on his head to release his hair. She mutters an apology when he pulls away, hovering over her. There’s an odd smile on his face, and he wipes his very red mouth on the back of his hand before kissing her neck softly.

She sighs, and because her hands are too tired, she leaves them where she can reach, against his chest and not around his neck. Hermione thinks she hears him chuckle softly, and then his hands are parting her thighs again, fitting himself between.

“Still good?” he asks, raising his head so his cool eyes meet hers.

Her nod is jerky, perhaps too excited. “Yes. Yes.”

“Good.” He kisses her lips softly. “And do I need one of those Muggle torture devices–”

“No. No, I’ve been on birth control for several years.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Birth control? That sounds horrible.”

“Oh, it is very much considering that mine is in the form of an implant.”

Malfoy looks concerned. “Er, and where is this implant?” He says the last word carefully.

She leans up to kiss him. “Don’t ask questions right now.”

His mind is still a little distracted (clearly), but he kisses her back, one hand against her face, and the other on her hip, holding her as he pushes himself in.

Hermione is very aware of his heavy gaze on her. He takes her, and she looks at him back, admiring the hair that falls against his forehead, the style messed no doubt thanks to her tight grip just minutes ago. He exhales shakily when she gasps, his thumb rubbing her cheek almost tenderly. “Fuck, Granger.”

“Malfoy,” she whispers, her fingers balling into fists. She needs a moment to adjust to him, though this goes without saying because he stills inside of her anyways until her breathing resumes to somewhat acceptable speed. 

His hand shifts so it’s fully cupping her cheek. His silver eyes gleam down onto her, his smile so lazy and radiant, her heart stutters in her chest. 

“Move,” she tells him with an accentuated tap to his bare chest. 

He obeys, rocking his hips against hers carefully, eyes never straying from her face. When a minute goes by and he looks satisfied with the small noises from her throat, he picks up his pace, lower lip tight between his teeth. 

“Fuck,” she grits, throwing her head back in absolute pleasure. Now that she thinks about it, how long has it even been since a good shag? The last time … well she doesn’t even want to think about that inexperienced wizard in her bed who lasted barely a few minutes and then bragged about it. 

Malfoy bends down to catch her mouth in a rough kiss. Surprised by it, she kissed him back, finally having enough strength to throw her arms around his shoulders, gripping him to her. He loves his hips faster, driving himself into her. He’s certainly big, and she feels that delicious stretch each time. 

“Feels so good,” she whimpers, her voice trembling. 

“I know, baby. I know.” He drops his forearms to either side of her head. “I’m going to fuck you. Really fuck you so I need you to hold onto me.”

Hermione’s eyes widen and she tightens her arms around him. And he does exactly what he promises. 

The pleasure explodes in her body. Normally it takes her up to an hour to even begin to feel the pleasure after having one orgasm, but the way it is right now — it feels like it’s the first time again. 

“Oh, fuck,” Hermione cries, reaching for his hair again at the nape of his neck. Nearly all her thoughts aside from Malfoy leave her brain.

Malfoy’s voice is in her ear. “Taking me so well, Granger. Always knew you would. I just knew.”

Hermione arches. “You’ve— you’ve thought about it.”

“Of course I have,” he murmurs, amusement in his tone. “And are you going to tell me you’ve never thought about this?”

She immediately thinks to deny it. In the absence of her voice, all she can hear is his low groans and her gasps. 

“No answer, Granger?”

She swallows. “Seems like you already know.”

Malfoy does laugh then, a faint one. “I can’t say I was confident about it. I think I just hoped. It was all about the temptation, wasn’t it? Wanting to fuck the person who hated your whole life.”

Hermione closes her eyes, letting out a breathless moan. His warm hands caress down her body, finding home against the curve of her waist. 

“I don’t…” she whispers. “I don’t think I ever hated you.”

Malfoy raises his head to be able to look at her face again. He brushes a kiss to her eyelids to coax them open. “Don’t need to flatter me because I’m inside of you, Granger.”

“Not flattering you,” she answers, barely getting her words out before he kisses her. His mouth fits perfectly against hers. “I really mean it.”

“Somehow that's even worse.”

Malfoy’s thrusts are deep, his silver eyes drunk with pleasure. He rubs against her inner walls so well, it’s no surprise that only a few more thrusts and he’s groaning into her mouth and she’s straining.

Hermione cries out as the feeling builds. When he’s about to come, he grabs her face and kisses her hard, rubbing her nerves between their bodies fast. And somehow despite how tense he feels, he still manages to get Hermione overboard one more time before he follows after her.

“Fuck,” he grits against her mouth, eyes fluttering shut. Hermione stares up at him in almost wonder, his beautiful face suddenly so much more handsome contorted with bliss.

He pulls out slowly, immediately murmuring a charm to clean them up when she shudders from the cold. His eyes open and stares down at her, breathing matching hers. She looks up at him with her own wide eyes, and Malfoy is the first to break, a smile taking over his lips.

He leans down. Though she sees it coming, she’s surprised by the softness of his mouth, the gentleness of his kiss which differs so much compared to intense kisses from just moments before. 

“All right, Granger?” he whispers, rubbing his nose gently against hers. His voice is raspy.

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Malfoy carefully pulls away, and Hermione is quick to grab the dark sheets and pull them over her bare chest. He quirks an eyebrow at her, looking very amused as he slips off the bed and reaches for his tight briefs, sliding them up his long legs.

She turns her head to look for her clothing, and when she finds them all littered over the floor, she panics, clutching the sheets to her more tightly.

He bends down to grab his black dress shirt and her underwear, holding them up with one finger before her. 

She takes them. “I don’t know if I can go back to the party after this.” Her breathing is still shallow.

He turns away and works on finding his trousers. “That's all right. I don’t feel like it either.”

“Maybe I just need like ten minutes.”

“Sure.” He smiles at her, and that doesn't make breathing any easier.

“Don't you need your shirt?” she calls after him as he walks around looking ridiculously handsome. Even without flexing, his muscles remain firm, his back spreading deliciously when he walks to his wardrobe and opens the doors.

“No, I’ll grab a new one.”

Hermione doesn’t mean to stare into his closet (she’s also not doing anything to look away), but it’s fascinating to get a glimpse of Malfoy's life. The closet is separated in half. On the right side, there are all his robes and suits, and on the other, there are sweaters, shirts, and – denim?

“Are those jeans?” Once Hermione has her clothes on, she sits up.

Malfoy picks out a white button down. “You don’t think I wear jeans, Granger?” His tone is light. Humored.

“I can’t imagine you in anything but suits and robes.”

“Considering I only see you at Hogwarts or parties, it’s fitting that I’ve never been around you in jeans.”

“Right but… blue jeans?”

Malfoy turns, slowly buttoning the buttons without looking. He walks back to her and stands before her. “Believe it or not, I do like a bit of color in my life.”

Hermione glances around the room. “Hm.”

“Fine,” Malfoy amends, “I too prefer neutral, practical colors. Just like you.”

Hermione nods, satisfied with winning the conversation. She watches him openly. He tucks his shirt into his trousers and then steps into his shoes. Disappointment pierces her. She assumed he’d stay, only getting up to get clothed again.

“Er, about the party– I thought you said–”

“I don’t plan on staying there,” Malfoy assures her, running his hands through his hair to tame his strands. He tucks a few behind his ear, and they miraculously stay there. Hermione’s curls would never do so. “My party or not.”

Hermione slants him a look. “It's your responsibility.”

“Ah, but I’ve done my host duties. I’ve shown them the drinks and the food. I’ve raised a toast to the happy couple, promised my gift later, and if I go out there now, I will see tipsy partygoers and several people snogging in corners of my house that I will need to sanitize later. I just need to have a word with Theo. I don’t think you plan on getting up either so just stay here, yeah? I’ll be back.”

He’s heading for the door before she can call for him. He locks it again when he leaves, and then Hermione is left in Draco Malfoy’s large bed, staring up at the ceiling. She slides down into the bed, spreading her arms wide.

Hermione just fucked Malfoy.

Hermione just had the best shag of her life.

Hermione just fucked Malfoy in the best shag of her life.

Everything about it has been amazing. The gentleness, the roughness, the hesitance. All of it. And despite him being a relative stranger, he’d learned her body well. Picked up on all the cues, listened to what it needed.

Hermione stays like that for a long time, her mind providing her a movie of what just happened. And at certain parts, she needs to press her thighs together.

Malfoy returns a while later. He locks the door again and says, “Theo’s going to handle the party. Told them you’re not feeling well so I’m going to take you home.” He steps closer to her and goes to remove his shoes again. “Most people have left. You lured me at a perfect time.”

Hermione turns her head to look at him when he sits down on the edge of the bed, leaning in to push her hair out of her eyes. 

He’s so beautiful in the dim light of his room, his hair unraveling again. The top buttons of his shirt are already done, the open collar exposing his pale throat wonderfully. She trails her fingers up slowly, touching his forearm with care, all the way to his bicep where she gives it a squeeze.

“I do hope this isn’t going to make work awkward,” she jokes, though its’ a leigite concern. She pushes herself up, her back against his headboard.

Malfoy’s mouth twists. “Of course not.” He shuffles closer and drops his head, kissing her softly. His range of kisses is commendable, this one both gentle and firm. He tastes like mint again, and it sends electricity through her body.

Her emotions take over, and soon, she’s climbing into his lap again, arms around his neck. She feels him smile into the kiss, and before she has a chance to ask him what could possibly be amusing right now, he tilts her head and starts kissing down her neck.

“Malfoy?” she whispers.

He clicks his tongue, pulling away to look at her. “Am I really going to be Malfoy to you?”

She frowns. “What?”

“I have been Malfoy to you for over a decade. All my friends have graduated to first names, and yet here I am. Still Malfoy to you.”

“Well, I’m still Granger to you.”

He smirks and holds her chin. “You know I’d never give in so easily. You first.”

Excitement shifts through her. “I don’t think we're on a first name basis yet, Malfoy. After all, there’s much more you can do to deserve it.”

His eyes are fiery. “Oh yeah? And tell me, Granger, how many more times I need to fuck you until you start calling me Draco, hmm?”

Hermione bites back a groan at his words. Instead, she surges forward and kisses him again. 

She’s unsure about what this means: her relationship to him, her feelings for him. If it could be more than lust, or if he will ever know how much she looked up to him in school. She wonders if it could all be different now. 

But what she does know is that she loves the promise of something more in the future. More nights like this, and more kisses like those ones he places across her cheek.

“Although,” Malfoy whispers between kisses. “I’m the type to treat my women well before ever taking them to bed. So you’ll have to let me do what I couldn’t do due to my hastiness.”

Hermione snickers. “What– take me out to dinner?”

He shrugs, though she feels his heart beating hard under her palm. “If you'll let me.”

She draws back a bit to look him in the eyes. His hands tighten against her back to ensure she doesn’t move too far. “Really?”

“Really.”

And then he kisses her again, laying her down on her back, following right behind her.