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The hour was late as Hermione returned home through the floo, escorted, as always, by Draco. The silence of the manor was a stark difference from the raucous sounds of the Ministry gala they had just departed. Witches and wizards had cheered and toasted the dawning of the new year and the blessed and peaceful future that was now surely upon them after years of war and division.
The Ministry had made sure of that. In the years following the second wizarding war, they had grown even more powerful. Power freely given by the people just wanting to heal and rebuild, taken by a greedy government who surely knew best. Eventually hunting down remaining dark wizards wasn’t enough, and talk turned to unity; a way to avoid the pitfalls of the previous generations and build a new future together. A marriage law was proposed and quickly voted through, Hermione’s appeals silenced and easily shut down.
She and her husband were a shining beacon of that hope for the future, reporters and photographers following their marriage closely. Tonight was no different and she was sure their false smiles would be splashed across the periodicals tomorrow. It would be just another reminder of the lonely life to which she had been relegated.
Just like clockwork, Draco dropped her hand and turned to leave for his wing. Sighing softly, she turned towards hers.
Slowly she marched up the grand staircase and down the familiar path to her rooms, the dark halls long and empty, spiteful portraits blessedly asleep. Rich carpet swallowed up even the sound of her steps, and it was a stark reminder that she was really, truly alone.
At last she entered her rooms and sat on the bed to remove her heels, feet aching and cursing the cushioning charms that had worn off sometime around midnight, but long before they could leave the party. The fire in her hearth sent a soft, amber hue throughout the space. It was comfortable and very much to her liking. Warm mahogany bookshelves lined the wall of the sitting room, plush chairs and couches adorning the hearth that boasted private floo access for her to come and go as she pleased. A small writing desk sat in the corner next to the window that overlooked the rose gardens.
The sitting room opened to an ample bedroom, decorated in rich shades of gold and burgundy, a welcome if surprising nod to her Gryiffindor past, she presumed. The rooms had been appointed this way before her arrival, and she hadn’t deemed it necessary to change them, instead devoting all of her time to dismantling the law that had put her in this predicament in the first place.
She stood to remove her dress, slinky gold sliding to the floor and puddling at her feet. She left it there as she added her knickers to the pile and stepped hurriedly towards the bathroom.
If her rooms were comfortable, this was her sanctuary. Soft green tile lined the walls, shimmering like sea glass under the golden light from the sconces. Within the large bathing chamber sat a deliciously deep clawfoot tub, site of her nightly ritual of decompression. She supposed there were some perks to being Lady of a manor.
She sat on the edge of the tub as she waited for it to fill, silently removing the jeweled combs from her hair and setting her fingers to work on the tense muscles of her neck and shoulders. Her hands pricked at the emotions that lay just beneath the surface, each squeeze releasing a little more of the carefully constructed demeanor she’d clung to throughout the night. Freeing the hard, hidden truth.
She squeezed her eyes shut at the thoughts that threatened to break free and sighed in frustration. The night had been long enough, and the last thing she needed was to wallow. But she couldn’t help but recall the way everyone around her had seemed to be happy, truly happy tonight. She’d been surrounded by couples who’s origin was like her own, forced together by a too powerful Ministry too scared of the division that had once almost torn them apart. But it seemed that in the months since the enactment of the marriage law and the summer of endless weddings that followed, everyone had fallen head over heels in love with their compulsory spouse.
She’d spied Harry holding hands with Theo Nott under the table and noticed the loving moments they shared on the dance floor. She’d caught Ginny sneaking off to the loos with Blaise on two occasions, and even Percy Weasley, the most obviously besotted, followed Pansy Parkinson around the ballroom like a dog on a leash.
Several times throughout the evening, her friends had pulled her aside, asking how she was, checking in on her. Making sure she was alright. She had adamantly assured them that she was fine, really, though she quickly grew tired of this practiced response when it became clear that they all held pity in their eyes as they nodded and smiled along.
And then to top it all off they had been expected to kiss at midnight. It was the first kiss they’d shared since the perfunctory one at their wedding, and she found herself becoming lightheaded when his lips touched hers. She’d closed her eyes and become lost in the warmth of his body, the bright notes of his scent surrounding her. She’d flushed when he'd pulled away, embarrassed that she’d let herself get caught up in a moment that was just for the press.
Groaning to herself at the memory, she leaned over to add her favorite jasmine oil to the bath, gently swirling the water with her hand. When she deemed it ready she stepped in, a deep sigh passing her lips as she sank into the warm water, bordering just on the edge of too hot. She relaxed back against the porcelain and let the steam wash over her.
She was not fine. She could admit that. She hadn’t been fine in months, if she was honest with herself. It’s something she rarely was anymore, but the exhaustion of the evening had stripped her bare, and all that was left was the feeling she most abhorred; longing.
A longing for a man who wanted absolutely nothing to do with her.
Back when they were assigned to each other, Draco had come to her and apologized. Not just for his past, but for the predicament they now found themselves in. He vowed his support to help her in whatever way she needed, and told her to consider his vaults her own in the fight to undo this injustice.
He was polite, if distant. She was curious, and needed the funds and the name. That’s how they’d entered their marriage, and how it had remained.
At home, he kept faithfully to his rooms or his study, and rarely interacted with her outside of their duties as Lord and Lady of Malfoy Manor, attending political dinners and charity events. Admittedly these were more frequent than she would have expected, but each night when they returned home, he left her with a curt goodnight, and it could be days before she saw him again.
He kept his distance, and she was determined to respect that no matter how much her feelings had changed. No matter that beneath her brave face and tight smiles her curiosity had given way to something deeper, something more akin to want.
She sank beneath the surface of the water, only emerging when her breath burned in her chest.
It was pathetic really, the way she wanted him. The way her thoughts would drift to him when she was working, when she was reading. How she wanted the steel of his eyes to turn to her, how she craved his attention.
Leaning slightly forward, she began to lay soothing caresses along the back of her neck and shoulders. Then slowly her fingers began to wander, sliding down her arms and over her ribcage. As her hands found the soft curves of her waist, she recalled the way Malfoy’s strong hands had guided her around the gala that evening. Never drifting below what was proper, no, but always with a hint of something else. Something like possession.
In public he rarely left her side, and from that close she could observe the way his detached demeanor hid a mind that was constantly at work, two steps ahead of everyone else in the room. She admired the way he expertly guided her through a party, directing her towards individuals who could support the bills she was pushing through the Wizengamot, or donate to causes she was passionate about. He did all this without her prompting, and over the months she began to wonder if he thought about her as much as she did him. But every night upon their return to the manor he would quickly remove himself from her side, and she was left only with the impression of his touch that stayed burned into her skin.
So she was left, as ever, alone. Alone in the longing of wanting to know him deeper, of wanting to feel him closer.
Her fingers trailed lower along her belly as she recalled the way his grip had tightened whenever someone’s gaze had dropped below her neckline, or when she laughed a little too loudly at Cormac’s joke. She’d begun to make a game of it, counting how many times she could provoke this response. She smiled to herself and wondered if she had imagined the way his eyes sharpened. The memory of him, real or not, sent a flush across her skin, sweat beginning to gather along her hairline.
Her fingertips lightly grazed along the hollow of her throat and down into the valley between her breasts where she cupped and squeezed and moaned into her touch. Each caress sent tingles along her spine, and she was opening her thighs and sinking deeper into the water without thinking.
Her fingers met the glossy slide of her entrance, one finger slipping into her soft center. Slowly she pumped in and out, encouraging the flush steadily blooming across her chest and the stronger heat building in her core. Eyes squeezed shut, she imagined the way his fingers would reach deeper inside her, the way her breasts would spill over the hold of his hands, and how his mouth would feel on her throat.
Her breathing became erratic as she began to press light, rapid touches to her clit, moaning as she added another finger and began to pump her hand harder. Water sloshed over the sides of the tub as her movements became more urgent and she cried out in frustration at how close she was.
She curled her fingers into the tender flesh of her front wall and with each stroke the heel of her hand beat roughly against her clit. She bent her knee to press her foot against the tub, letting the tension in her body climb until all at once her climax cascaded across her and the sound of his name poured from her lips.
Gradually her hand stilled and she took time to peel her eyes open. The water rocked gently over her body as her breath continued in short, uneven pants. The waning pleasure quickly gave way to a wave of self pity, and she groaned as she slid underneath the surface, willing it to swallow her whole.
But slowly she gathered herself together, and made herself rise from the tub. Quick, but efficient drying charms washed over her body and hair as she wrapped herself in the soft silk of her robe. She wanted nothing more than to sink under the covers and drift into a long, dreamless sleep.
But as she entered the room, she froze.
“Malfoy!” She gasped, hands flying to the lapels of her robe to hide the flush that she knew still colored her chest. He was across the room leaning against her bookshelves, glass of whisky in hand, white button down half undone and looking every bit the fantasy she had just conjured. “What– what are you doing here?”
She clambered back against the door, trying desperately to determine how long he had been standing there and if he would have been able to hear her from where he stood across the room.
His eyes flashed darkly in the light of the fire before he seemed to catch himself, but not before she saw the way his gaze had lingered over her appearance. He cleared his throat and stood away from the wall, collecting himself into the put together version of him she was used to. But even as he straightened his posture and hardened his gaze, his hand gripped the glass a little too tightly, and she noticed the way his strands of platinum hair fell haphazardly across his brow.
“I apologize. I was just coming to check on you,” he paused before continuing a little softer, “You… you seemed upset.”
Oh. That was… unexpected. His silence continued and she realized belatedly that he was awaiting her response.
“Oh, well… I’m fine.” She croaked the last word, still too caught up with the fact that he was in her rooms, and that she was expected to have a conversation with the person whose name she had been moaning not five minutes ago.
“Right,” he laughed lightly, shaking his head. “You’re always just fine.” He placed his whiskey on the shelf and ran his hands through his hair.
She scowled at his appraisal, about to argue but he continued, then cut himself off. “I didn’t—”
She had never seen him at a loss for words before. Didn’t what?
“Sorry, forget it. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.” And then suddenly he was walking to the door, whisky forgotten and murmuring his usual goodnight to the carpet.
“Draco, wait–”
His hands gripped the doorframe and waves of tension rippled across his shoulders. He was finally close, finally something other than the distant man she had so desperately been pining over, and she couldn’t let him leave again.
“You don’t have to go.”
“Hermione,” his voice rumbled low as if in warning, but that only spurred a fresh wave of heat through her core.
The air between them stood still. He groaned and pushed away from the door, closing it behind him. The heat in his eyes was back, a silver storm of feelings she dared not presume. It took everything in her not to tremble or hide as he took in the state of her. They stared at each other for a long moment before something in him snapped and he was stalking towards her with conviction.
Her heart beat rapidly in her chest as his hand threaded into her curls and tilted her gaze up to meet his. He was close, so much closer than they’d ever been and she found her breathing once again becoming uneven.
“You deserve so much better than this,” his voice landed softly on her lips as he leaned in impossibly closer, but still holding himself back. The anguish in his eyes was clear and she heard what he didn’t say; that she deserved better than him.
Then it was her turn to decide. He was there, right there. She barely had any distance left to cross and before she could question herself she reached up to press her lips to his, this time only for him. Only for them.
He moaned into her mouth and wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her to his chest. The feel of him sent fireworks across her body and she easily opened for him, becoming pliant in his arms. Her hands found his chest, his arms as she kissed him back greedily, her tongue begging for more.
In the next moment he was lifting her and her legs wrapped instinctively around him as he carried her to the bed. He gently laid her out along the duvet, pausing briefly to take in every inch of her. She squirmed under his careful attention, rubbing her thighs together.
He noticed and moved towards her, crawling over her body, caging her in. He silently dipped his fingers along the exposed V of her chest, parting her robe as he trailed lower to her navel. The only sounds were their short, heavy breaths and the distant crackling of the fire.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed, as he bent to press a light kiss along the hollow between her breasts. She sucked in a sharp inhale at the contact. “I’ve tried to stay away,” he murmured as his lips trailed lower, “but I can’t anymore.” He traced his movements back up her skin until he was hovering over her, grey eyes the most open she’d ever seen them. So she opened herself to him in return.
“I don’t want you to stay away, Draco.”
His lips closed over hers as he lowered his body onto her, and she moaned at the feel of his weight settling between her thighs. She wrapped her legs around him as her fingers threaded into his hair, pulling him closer and claiming him as hers.
He pulled his mouth away from her lips and she tilted her head back as he found the soft skin of her throat. She keened as he nipped and sucked along the sensitive flesh, squeezing him tighter and thrusting her hips up into him, desperate for more.
“I need to feel you,” he said, and she whined as he pulled away, sitting up as his fingers found the buttons of his shirt. But her patience was gone and with a wave of her hand she vanished their clothes. He paused as the magic washed over him and his gaze darkened. Her hands trailed over the pale scars on his chest as she reached up to him, pulling him back down.
Pressed skin to skin they stared at one another, the weight of what this meant hitting them both at the same time.
“Tell me you want this,” he breathed. Want him, she thought, and she wouldn’t deny him.
“I’ve wanted this for a long time, Draco.”
At that he let out a breathy laugh, “I promise you, I’ve wanted this for longer.”
A smile overtook her features and she pulled his face to hers, kissing him soundly. She hugged him close as his hands found the back of her thighs, fingers pressing firmly into her soft flesh. He lifted her thigh over his hip, and she moaned as he ground against her. His mouth found her breasts, tongue laving against the hard peak of her nipple.
“Please,” she cried, “please I need you inside me.”
He gave into her pleas instantly, his hand moving between her thighs, finding her hot center. He groaned softly against her as he teased a finger along her folds, her arousal coating him as he slid two fingers inside. He began to pump his fingers, in and out, and trailed his thumb up to flick against her clit. She moaned at the feel of him, and pulled him back up into a kiss.
He was winding her higher and she only wanted more.
He kissed her hard as he removed his fingers, pulling away from her. He took himself in hand, looking down as he began to pump slowly, using her arousal to coat himself. She laid back, watching the need that stained his features, surely as hungry as her own.
Their eyes locked as lined himself up at her center, and pressed forward, pushing into her.
The weight of his body once again pinned her down, and she cried out at the stretch, arching her back and pulling him impossibly closer. He began to move, thrusting his hips into her hard and deep, slow and steady. She let herself get lost in the feel of him, in the build of tension along her spine.
“I heard you,” he breathed low in her ear, and she only cried out louder, a wave of heat flashing over her. “I heard you, and I knew I should have left, but I couldn’t move.”
He pumped his hips faster, and brought his thumb back to her clit, pulling mindless whimpers from her throat. She was so close to falling apart for him.
“And then I heard you moan, and I heard my name, and all I wanted was to be the one to do that to you.” She keened and he was unrelenting, her need winding higher and higher.
“Come for me. Let me hear you.”
Finally the wave crashed over her, all thoughts pushed from her mind as she cried out. He kept moving, coaxing her through her climax as she gently repeated his name.
Draco
Draco
Draco
His hips began to stutter, movements becoming harder, faster until his release found him and she felt him still inside her.
“Hermione,” he breathed as he pressed his forehead to hers. They stayed like that, catching their breath, wrapped up in one another until he gently rolled off of her and pulled her to his side. She tangled their legs together as he curled his arm around her shoulder, his hand finding a home in her curls as he pressed her to his chest.
They were quiet for a while, until gradually Hermione’s thoughts came creeping back in. She thought of what he’d said earlier, how long he’d wanted this, wanted her. Thought of the way he kept himself from her, and the longing they had unknowingly shared.
She turned her head to look up at him, and his eyes were already on her, waiting. He looked guarded and unsure, perhaps sensing the turn of her thoughts. And she couldn’t bear the thought of either of them going through that loneliness, not when they were so close. She sat up to look at him fully.
“I want this Draco,” she said, gently placing her hand on his chest. “I want you. Us.”
His eyes softened as he opened back up to her, pulling her back to him with a tender kiss. “I’m not letting you go anywhere,” he murmured against her lips. “Can I stay?”
She nodded and he pulled the covers aside, curling himself around her, her back to his front.
They fell asleep as the dawn rose on a new year they would share, together.