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I can’t ask this of you.
The 780th annual conference of potion masters was off to a cracking start. The veritable genius Glenda Godfrey had presented new findings on the effects of stasis charms at different points on potions, which Draco had found exceedingly pleasing.
Turning smugly to Blaise lounging beside him and cocking a brow. “I told you that batch was weaker than the last,” he chided.
Blaise rolled his eyes, bumping his shoulder into Theo’s, sitting on his other side and fastidiously taking notes. “Drake’s showing off again.”
Theo swore as the bump knocked his quill forcing a large glob of ink to mar his page. He swallowed the last of his whiskey before turning to face them. “And that’s worthy of ruining my notes? He’s always showing off.”
Draco scoffed. “You’re one to fucking talk mate. If I have to listen to you bang another broad tonight I’m going to vomit.”
Theo grinned, joining in to applaud Professor Godfrey as she took a bow. “Lucky the colour green suits you Draco.”
“I have discerning taste.”
Blaise, who had been in the middle of emptying his pint glass, promptly started coughing and sprayed the rest of Theo’s notes.
“Fucking balls, Blaise,” Theo yelped, pulling his wand out to dry the pages. “Thank you very much, Draco, he’s entirely ruined my notes now.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Blaise said, not looking remotely contrite. “Next round on me? I think there’s one more presentation before we can properly hit the bar.”
Draco nodded, before knocking back the remainder of his fire whisky. Blaise bounded off to the bar and Theo pulled out his folder from his bag, gathering his notes to place them away.
“I was able to chat with Dr Higgenbaum yesterday,” Theo continued, and Draco spun to him, eyes widening.
“You didn’t.”
Theo grinned. “Sure did, made quite an impression on him too. He told me the committee was extremely impressed by our research proposal and the opportunity for the magical and non-magical community to work together.”
“Fuck. Do you think they might actually be considering approving it?”
Theo shrugged. “He loves to talk about himself, and green lighting a project of this size with scientists and wizards working together would certainly paint him in a very favourable light. His silence during the war was damaging and people aren’t really letting him forget it.”
“Still, surely there are other, more worthy proposals he would consider first.”
“Ah, but as far as I can tell, no other proposals came from a former death-eater currently making admirable amends for their misdeeds in the war.”
Something soured in Draco’s stomach. “You think he would approve this project because it’s my name.”
Theo raised his eyes from his notes to glance at him. Draco hated the pity in his eyes. “You will never escape the name Malfoy. People are going to use your name for the rest of your life. You might as well get something out of it too.”
“Spoken like a Nott,” Draco protested.
“Exactly,” Theo bit back. “No one will ever let me forget what my father did during the war. No one will let me forget the galleons I now have at my disposal, the fact I am the last surviving member of that blight on the wizarding world. If they want my money for their causes, they can damn well give me something I want too.”
“Here,” Blaise ambles back, pushing a new glass of fire whiskey into Draco’s hand. “Drink up, you’ll need some liquid courage for the last speaker.”
Draco looks up at Blaise, who’s grinning manically. “Why? Who is it?”
“Good evening distinguished guests,” a swotty voice comes from the stage, magically amplified and Draco feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
No.
“No,” he whispers.
Theo looks up at the stage and laughs.
Blaise raises a brow at Draco before taking his seat back. “Don’t you want to see what she looks like now?” he asks innocently.
No.
Draco still has his back to the stage, but already a dozen images of the witch who tormented him throughout school rifled through his mind. Her curls moving from the wind on the quidditch pitch. Her small hands, fingers always spotted with ink, curled around her wand as she traced complicated enchantments. The way she took her coffee in the morning, the first cup always consumed in a hurry, the second savoured as she lingered over whatever book had captured her attention. The furrow in her brow when she took on the Wizengamot council, refuting the claim any minors belonged in Azkaban for the sins of their parents.
Her two-word response to his twelve-page apology letter.
Thank you.
He has traced those words more than he cares to admit. Over years of studying for his potions mastery. Over years of working to be accepted back into wizarding society.
Slowly, Draco turns in his seat to face the stage.
Legs.
That’s his first thought as he takes in gorgeous smooth legs, feet encased in small black heels. He wrenches his gaze up, where her skirt flirts with the top of her knees. A simple black fabric stretching over generous thighs. She’s wearing a red silk shirt, tucked into the waistband of her skirt, and Draco can’t help but grin at her colour choice. The neckline is opened, revealing her long neck, smooth unblemished skin. Her curls are escaping her bun, curling around her ears and temple. He wonders if he concentrated hard enough, could he snap the single clip attempting to hold her mass of curls back? Her eyes are on the papers in front of her, her voice tremulous. She’s nervous, he realises. Hermione Granger, saviour of the wizarding world, the brightest witch of her age, one third of the Golden-fucking-trio, is nervous speaking in front of a small crowd of potion masters. Most well into their seventies.
“She looks well,” Blaise leans closer to Draco to whisper.
“Of course she looks good, she always—” Draco bites off the rest of his sentence. Knowing his two friends beside him are well aware of what has always been a debilitating one-sided crush.
Blaise’s grin turns wicked before he turns to Theo, voice slightly louder. “It appears she’s forgotten to account for the waxing gibbous phase of the moon cycle.”
Theo bites his thumb, a matching grin on his face. “An oversight she used to make in school too.”
Draco is torn between listening to her soft voice as she chats about improvements Healers have made to the Wolfsbane potion and shutting these two idiots up. “She has not made an oversight, she’s a Healer, she’s well aware of what is needed at different stages. She’s—”
“Excuse me?” Draco freezes, there is a horrific crunching sound in his brain as he realises how loud he was talking. That everyone in the conference, including Granger, has stopped and turned towards him.
“Do you have a problem with my research, Malfoy?” she asks, and Draco wants to die.
“No,” his voice comes out scratchy, and he clears his throat to try again.
“No, I wasn’t saying that.”
He looks up at the projections behind her, the charts of the moon and the potion adjustments and stills.
Fuck, those two idiots are right.
“Do you have something you wish to share with the group?” Granger asks, crossing her arms. Always such a little know-it-all, Draco thinks.
Blaise bites his lip to stop his laugh, Draco scratches his jaw. “It’s just that—”
“Speak up, please,” Granger interrupts and Draco’s mind whites out, even as he notices Theo’s shoulder shaking with suppressed laughter.
He stands, pulling his wand out to amplify his voice, hardly knowing what he’s doing except that he needs to play. To engage in besting this uptight little vixen that he hasn’t had the chance to do since his potion classes at school. Giving her a lazy smirk, he gestures towards her projections. “Your calculations are off.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “An entire team—”
“Is wrong, yes,” he continues, giving her his best shit eating grin. “Don’t worry, it’s an easy mistake for less confident potioneers to make.”
She glares at him, and Draco feels his cock twitch. “When you come to the waxing gibbous stage, you must always decrease your use of Moonstone. Moonstone absorbs the moon and trails behind the moon cycle. If you use the same amount of Moonstone in that phase of the potion, you set the cycle forward two days, rendering the need for additional ingredients and expenditure to counteract the moon’s vitality.”
Her mouth drops slightly open as she realises her mistake, and Draco tries to capture the image so he can remember it later, alone in his bed. “If you decreased the use of Moonstone in that phase of the potion making, you could potentially decrease all your ingredients later, saving you and the makers a lot of money, probably close to an eighteen percent reduction in ingredients and therefore cost.”
Everyone in the crowd is silent. Granger’s eyes meet his. Even though they are across the room, he knows their colour. A deep whisky, golden-brown and warm.
“Thank you,” she says softly.
Draco nods, rendered speechless by those two words. He finds his seat as she continues, not hearing a word as his heartbeat pounds in his ears.
---
Blaise is chatting up the bartender beside him, her Irish tones melodic against Blaise’s soft murmurs. Draco stares at his empty glass as he sits on the rickety stool. Theo has gone to bed already, a redhead his choice of the night. Draco thinks he might try to drink himself to oblivion, so he has less chance of hearing their antics through the thin walls of the hotel. Wales is too far for him to apparate home, plus he’s been drinking all afternoon. A definite increase since his encounter with Granger.
He’s about to incur the wrath of Blaise and ask the lovely bartender if she wouldn’t mind giving him the entire bottle when a small hand tentatively touches his shoulder. He jerks up finding Granger in front of him.
“Hi,” she says, a small smile on her face.
“Hi,” he repeats dumbly, and her smile grows.
“I was wondering if I could pick your brain over my presentation?” Granger asks, gesturing to a small booth in the corner. “I ran your suggested ingredients and you’re right. I heard you’d gotten your potions mastery, so I thought you might not mind—”
“No.”
“Oh.” Granger swallows, shaking her head. “Of course, sorry I—”
Draco slides off the stool to stand in front of her. “No, I mean no, I don’t mind. We could chat.”
Granger smiles and Draco could swear his heart actually skips a beat. “Can I bring you a drink?” he asks her.
“Just water, please,” she replies.
“Right, one second, I’ll bring it over.”
She nods, moving to the half booth, and he waits for her to leave before turning hopelessly to Blaise and the watching bartender.
“Help me,” he pleads.
Grace, the bartender, tilts her head to coo at him. “Oh, darling, you’re really hung up on her.”
Blaise snorts, reaching into his pocket for a small vial. He tosses it to Draco. “Sober up potion,” he tells Draco, who promptly knocks it back.
Grace fills two glasses with ice and water and floats them over to the table where Hermione sits. “I think she might be interested in you too,” she tells Draco.
Draco shakes his head. “Don’t tell me that. I’m on the verge of having a heart attack.”
“You’re gorgeous, she’s gorgeous, what’s stopping you?”
Blaise shakes his head. “Do you have seven years; I can fill you in?”
“Shut up,” Draco snaps, whacking Blaise in the back of the head as he moves to join Granger.
---
Draco feels like he’s dreaming. Easily settling into a conversation with Granger that starts with her work as a Healer and the treatments she has been working to improve before moving to every other topic that crosses her keenly observant mind. She asks about his life, his family, revealing her success restoring her parent’s memories. He tells her his request to the ministry to work with a team of muggle scientists, combining potions and geology together. The bar is slowly emptying around them when Draco finally gets the courage to ask about Ron.
“And how is the Weasel, Granger?” he asks, leaning back into the booth, his gaze fixated on the tiny curl that is tickling the side of her neck. He wants to reach out and pull it, watch it spring back.
Hermione takes a long sip of her water, licking her lower lip. “We dated for a few months but nothing ever serious. He’s currently playing in Ireland as a keeper. He’s dating one of the Beaters on the team. She’s very funny, doesn’t take any of his shit.”
“Good, good,” Draco catches himself nodding stupidly and hurriedly stops. He clears his throat. “And no one else?”
She wrinkles her nose. “A few dates here and there, no one really worth mentioning.”
She looks up at him, eyes wide and dark in the low light. “What about you? I mean, The Prophet is always reporting some socialite on your arm.”
“Keeping tabs on me Granger? Should I be flattered?”
She blushes then, and he feels his breath catch. Fucking hells, is she actually keeping tabs on him.
“No,” he hurries to assure her, “No one worth mentioning.”
She bites her lip, her shoulders straightening imperceptibly. “I actually have some more of my research notes about Wolfsbane in my room, maybe you could look over them for me?”
Draco finds himself mute for several long seconds before finally nodding. “Lead the way.”
She moves with him through the bar, Blaise waggling his eyebrows at him from his perch on the bar.
He follows her into the lift, moving to the third floor, two below where his suite is. She comes to a stop outside room 309 and pulls a large ornate key from her bag. Draco places his hand over hers, stilling her movements.
“Granger,” he says tightly, “I just need to know before you open that door. Are there actually research notes in there? Or—” He trails off helplessly.
She’s staring at his hand that completely covers hers. Swallowing, she meets his gaze. “I do have research notes in there.”
Draco refuses to move, to show one millisecond of disappointment.
“But,” she continues, “That’s not why I invited you up here.”
“Thank Merlin,” Draco growls, pulling the key from her hand while his other hand slides up into her hair, releasing the clip. Her curls tumble free as Draco pushes her into the closed door, his thigh moving between her legs as his hand fumbles to grip her waist. His mouth closes over hers just as the honey, vanilla scent of her hair hits him, and he groans into her mouth. His lips moving over hers as she opens on a gasp. He takes the chance, deepening the kiss, sliding his tongue against hers. She wraps her arms around him, and he feels her heat, her warmth on his thigh. There is a good chance he might pass out.
“Fuck, let me get inside,” he grits out, fumbling to find the lock behind her.
“Please, yes,” Hermione gasps, grinding down on his thigh.
Draco huffs out a laugh against her neck, head swimming as he’s surrounded by her scent. “I meant let me open the door.”
“Oh.” She laughs. “That would be good too. Although I’m not opposed to semi-public—”
“Are you trying to kill me?” Draco groans at the images now flooding his brain. He pushes the key into the lock, the door flying open as he half stumbles, half carries her to the bed. “Bed first, alright?”
He raises himself on his arms, pushing himself into her hips, and she gasps, nodding eagerly. He pulls her shirt from her skirt, roughly undoing the buttons. His fingers graze her lace covered breasts, and he wets his lips before pulling the cups down to pull one aching nipple into his mouth.
“God,” Hermione groans, fingers threading into his hair. He bites her gently, reaching behind to take her shirt and bra off properly. She tries to unbutton his shirt but struggles to pull it off him when he swaps sides, sucking and nibbling.
“Please, please, more,” she groans. He sits up, finding the side zip in her skirt and pulling it down and off. He takes a moment to look at her green lace panties before running a hand over his face in disbelief.
“Shit, Granger. You’re a bit dangerous.”
She blushes at his words. “Will you take your clothes off?”
He shakes his head at her plea. “Not yet, I don’t trust myself. I need to make you feel good first.”
He pulls her to the edge of the bed, pulling her underwear off and pocketing them before moving her legs to spread her thighs. Hermione flushes hotly at being so exposed, attempting to press her thighs back together.
“No, Granger,” Draco shakes his head. “Let me see you.”
He presses his lips beside her knee. “You look like a dream.” He kisses her inner thigh. “Gorgeous.” He licks a line closer to her centre.
“And you smell,” he trails off, pressing his nose just above where she craves him. “You smell fucking divine.”
“Draco,” she has been reduced to whimpers, leaning back on shaking arms.
“It’s all right, Granger. Let me make you feel good.”
She gasps as he licks a line straight between her folds, wrapping his lips directly over her clit.
“Draco, I don’t think I can—”
“Can you hold yourself up? Do you like to watch?” His voice is low, considered as he licks with a firm, steady pressure. Already building her up.
“I don’t, I don’t know, I’ve never—”
“You’ve never watched someone eat you out?”
“No,” she says on a squeal as he sucks her clit. “No one has done this before.”
His lips still and he glares up at her. “No one has used their mouth on you before?”
She shakes her head and Draco feels his eyebrows raise in disbelief. “Why the fuck not?”
Hermione bites her lip, arms shaking with the strength to keep herself up. “I don’t know.”
“Merlin, Granger,” he says and then plants an open kiss right where her heartbeat is pulsing. She gasps, legs twitching. “Who would fumble an opportunity to worship between these thighs?”
He presses another kiss, then slides his tongue to her entrance.
“Sweeter than honey,” he mumbles, licking her again.
“Better than chocolate,” he murmurs, his hand sliding up her thigh.
“I haven’t even finished, and already I want more,” he says, as he slides two fingers inside her.
Hermione breaks, something inside her shattering as her entire body twitches. She collapses on the bed, breaths coming in choppy gasps as she tries to come down from the most intense orgasm of her entire life.
Draco moves up to lay beside her, pushing her hair back from her sweaty forehead to place a chaste kiss at her temple.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, so soft Hermione almost doesn’t catch it.
“Could we keep going?” she asks him, eyeing his trousers as they pull tight from his cock.
He smiles, removing his pants and boxers and watching Hermione’s eyes widen slightly. A deeply satisfied purr in his chest because he knows from her face that he’s the biggest she’s seen.
“How would we—” she pauses, swallowing. “How should we do this?”
Draco decides to lay everything on the line, if this is only one night he doesn’t want to miss his chance. His jaw tightens as he takes in her rosy flush, the nip of her waist and the fuller curve of her hips and thighs. “If you’re open to it, I would love to take you from behind.”
He huffs out a breath as he smiles. “It’s just, I’m pretty sure your arse has had poems written about it over the years.”
Her mouth breaks open in a wide smile, even as she rolls her eyes. “I’m sure that’s not—”
“I’ll write you one right now if you need the confirmation.”
She laughs, sitting up. The movement makes Draco’s eyes catch on her chest again, and he reaches out to palm one of her breasts.
“Lean over the pillow,” he suggests, tipping his head towards the pile at the top of the bed. She moves, settling herself over one, and Draco positions himself behind her. Her shoulders are trembling slightly, and Draco moves slowly.
“We don’t have to—”
“No,” she turns over her shoulder to look at him. “No, please, I want you.”
He clenches his jaw, eyes shutting at the words she’s said so easily. His heart is racing, suddenly immensely nervous at the thought of disappointing her. His hands move to her hips, pulling her lower over the pillow, and she relaxes, dropping to her elbows. He slides into her smoothly, already so wet from his earlier efforts. She gasps as he bottoms out, one hand moving up to push her curls over one shoulder. He sets a steady, even pace, worrying spots along her jawline with his mouth. Small nips with his teeth as he moves down her neck. Her breath is speeding up, her hips beginning to push back into his, to meet his thrusts. And Draco thinks if he can get her there twice, he could die tomorrow a completely satisfied man. He moves his hand between her and the pillow, turning his palm up to move down over her stomach. He notches his pinky, the back of his signet ring, right under her hood, her clit moving on top of it, sliding, pressing. She arches her back, a loud gasp of her muggle phrase repeated over and over.
“Oh my god,” she moans.
He feels his balls tightening, knowing he’s so close, but needing her to get there first.
“Fuck, Granger,” he groans in her ear. “You feel so good.”
Hermione calls his name, and then he feels her, fluttering around him. He manages two more thrusts before he comes, shaking.
As gently as he can, he eases her down to the bed, pulling the covers over her, casting the contraception charm for them both.
“That was—” she starts and then shakes her head, looking at him with sleepy eyes.
“Yeah, Granger, I know,” he says pulling her to sleep on his chest.
---
Draco grew up knowing magic is real, Draco knew he would be a wizard from before he could even say what a wizard really was. But still, what happens next is magic. Pure magic.
They spend almost every night together, alternating between her flat and his wing of the manor. He shows her all the renovations and changes he has slowly been making, ensuring no darkness remains. They cook together, talking about their days before falling into bed, limbs entwining, mouths seeking each other.
They have sex everywhere. In both of their showers, in the large bathtub in Draco’s ensuite. Draco leans Hermione forward over her dresser, taking her from behind as they stare at each other in the mirror. Hermione blushing a deep, dark red at his words. Draco shows her the greenhouses at the manor, going down on her as she leans back, breath fogging the glass as she gasps through her release.
They spend entire weekends in bed, before moving to the floor, against the walls and bookshelves in the manor’s library.
It’s almost a month of pure bliss when Draco realises it’s not magic at all.
It’s something far deeper, far more life altering.
He’s in love with her.
He might have always been in love with her.
And then it all comes crashing down.
Hermione comes into his potions lab just before the end of the workday. Draco is washing the various cauldrons and vials the three of them had been using that day when she comes up behind him.
“Hello,” she says, leaning up to plant a kiss on his cheek. He turns his head, capturing her lips.
“Hello to you too.” Draco nods towards the sink. “We got a bit carried away today but give me a minute, and we can go to tea, dumplings tonight?”
Hermione nods. “Oh yes, please.” She glances at all the dirty vials, still to be washed. “Do you want some help?”
“That’d be great, I don’t know where those two idiots ran off too, but I’m starving, and I don’t particularly feel like eating at midnight again.”
“We got a bit carried away the other day,” Hermione says as she rolls up her sleeves, ducking her head to hide her blush.
“Oh, I wouldn’t change that bit, Granger” Draco argues. “But instant ramen after four hours of sex isn’t sufficient enough to recharge me.”
Hermione laughs. “I think you recovered fine.”
“You’re turning me into a shell of myself. I’m wasting away from your hedonistic demands.”
“My demands?” she repeats in mock outrage.
Draco turns off the tap, drying his hands on a tea towel. “Is it all one-sided? My apologies, I guess you won’t want me to be bothering you anymore.”
There is a current running between them, something lingering under the surface of their teasing. Hermione grabs the tea towel from him, drying her hands.
“Draco—” she starts and then pauses, swallowing a deep breath. Hermione looks up into his eyes, and Draco’s breath catches. She’s going to beat him to it. She’s always been smarter and quicker than him.
“Wait—” he stammers, reaching out for her. “I need to—”
The door flies open and suddenly, there are two blurry shapes rushing to him, lifting him into the air.
Blaise screaming in his face, “We got it! We got it!”
Theo has tears pouring down his face as he turns to Hermione, lifting her into a hug. “They approved all of it. The whole year!”
Draco breaks from Blaise’s grip, moving back to catch his breath. “Approved?”
Blaise grins. “We leave next week to join the Canadians.”
“You’re going to Canada?” Hermione asks, looking at Theo.
Theo shakes his head. “Not Canada, Antarctica.”
“Oh my god,” Hermione exclaims, “That’s huge. You and Blaise are going to Antarctica for your potions research?”
“Draco is leading the entire thing,” Blaise says, patting Draco’s shoulder and Draco wants to sink into the floor. He wants to scream and shout and rage at the timing.
“You’re leading a research trip in Antarctica?” Hermione raises her eyes to him.
He swallows. “Remember that grant I said we had applied for?”
She nods, slowly. “I thought you asked for a grant to try to combine both magical and non-magical methods for energy use.”
Draco nods. “That’s what we want to try to do. I never thought they would approve it. We submitted it thinking there was no way we would get the backing or the ministry approval. We requested to work with a group of scientists, with muggles, for a year.” He scratches the back of his neck. “In Antarctica.”
The room is silent, the four of them standing in an awkward square. Draco keeps his eyes on Hermione, watching her swallow convulsively.
Finally, she smiles, her eyes shiny. “That’s wonderful for you all, congrat—”
“Obviously, I’m not going,” Draco states flatly.
“What the fuck?” Theo splutters.
“Drake, mate,” Blaise says his words slowly, cautiously, “You are kind of important to this whole thing. One might even say crucial.”
“I can’t go,” Draco directs this statement to Blaise, hands fisting by his side. A muscle feathers in Blaise’s jaw as an unspoken conversation happens between them.
Finally, Blaise turns to Theo. “Drink?”
“What is happening?” Theo asks incredulously. “What the actual fuck is happening right now? All this work, we’ve been talking about this for years.”
“Theo,” Blaise interrupts harshly, “Bar. Now.”
Theo glares at him but moves silently from the room, Blaise on his heels. Hermione hasn’t looked at Draco once through this exchange, and Draco feels like he might be drowning. An immense pressure has landed on his chest, squeezing his lungs in a vice-like grip.
“I didn’t realise this project you’ve been telling me about was in Antarctica,” Hermione murmurs. “You’ve been talking about your proposal for weeks; I never actually checked the location. I just assumed it was based here.”
“A lot of the theories were working around the Aurora Australis. Working with the lights,” Draco’s voice sounds hollow. “It doesn’t matter, I’m—”
“This is something you’ve all been working on for years, wanting for years,” Hermione says easily.
“There are plenty of things I’ve wanted for years,” Draco protests. “We have heaps of ideas for research, this just happened to be the request we submitted. It doesn’t mean—”
Hermione fiddles with her watch, needlessly fussing with the band. “You’re going.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Draco.”
“Hermione,” Draco hates how weak he sounds, begging her to look at him.
“It’s a year, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” Hermione says, her voice falsely bright. “This is the most amazing thing to ever happen to you. Take me to dinner with Blaise and Theo and tell me all about it.”
Draco shakes his head, throat clogging.
She approaches him cautiously, reaching for his hand. He threads his fingers through hers, and she looks down, rubbing her thumb over his signet ring.
“I can’t be the reason you stay. I could never live with myself.” She looks up at him, biting her lip. “This has been such a lovely couple of weeks, let’s have one last dinner and part as friends.”
“Friends,” Draco repeats, and she nods.
He steps back, pulling his jacket on while he tries to calm the shaking in his hands. There is acid churning in his stomach, and he worries he might do something stupid if he looks at her. Something like begging her to love him, like he so desperately loves her. He runs a hand through his hair, brushing it back from his face.
“Shall we get Blaise and Theo and go for dumplings?”
She nods, picking up her bag.
They are silent on the short walk to the bar Draco frequents with Blaise and Theo. When they get to the front entrance, Draco looks in at Theo and Blaise both nursing large glasses of whiskey before turning to Hermione and pulling her back with a gentle tug. She looks up curiously.
“Because of the environment and that we’ll be working with muggles, we’ve all been learning to email. Do you think—would it be okay if I emailed you?” He swallows. He knows it’s stupid, but he thinks he could possibly try to keep one small part of her. “As friends? I’ve enjoyed our conversations so much, and I’d love to hear from you, about London, your work, everything really.”
“I would love that,” she gives him a tentative smile.
---
Granger,
The Auroras here are blindingly gorgeous, the sky alight with every shade of blue and green you could ever imagine. I fear your poor little Gryffindor heart would faint at what is undoubtably a Ravenclaw and Slytherin’s wet dream.
Draco,
I finally cracked the shits at my supervisor after my tenth week of just night shifts in a row. Unfortunately, this was in full view of the reception and several expecting witches have requested a different, “more level-headed” birthing healer.
Granger,
A new colony of penguins has taken up residence just outside my bedroom window. You will not believe the noise from them as they get absolutely railed by their chosen partners. In other news, my record player broke from overuse. Blaise has refused to change rooms, but I’m hopeful at poker this week I can get a new room assignment.
Draco,
I was moved back to emergency just in time for the new season of quidditch. Why wizards wish to risk their necks every day in pursuit of little balls is beyond me. Also, Ron was transferred back to a London team. Everyone is so excited he’s back to weekly dinners with us at The Burrow, although he was devastated Erin broke up with him.
Granger,
Awful news, my mother has learnt to email. She is mostly using it to send articles from The Prophet as well as photos of single French socialites she has bribed a curator at a little gallery to scan for her. Blaise and Theo have requested the same pictures sent to them which was quickly denied.
Draco,
I’m hoping to move back to curses in the next month or two once a new emergency healer is trained up. If I have to hear one more quidditch player crying over a broken finger I might lose my mind. Ron has broken three fingers already and is quite possibly the worst patient I’ve ever seen. He can barely cook on a good day but give him the chance to milk another story of another “war injury” and it’s easier to just do all the chores for him myself.
Granger,
You’ll be happy to know I have spent the past five months sans house elf learning to cook. If it comes in a tin or is some sort of dried good you can bet your bottom sickle that I can make an edible meal out of it. Some of the rations we asked for were mixed up and concurrently Theo is now claiming he has an allergy to creamed corn that will only be fixed by a week on a tropical island eating nothing but fresh fruit. Although in his defence, I would give my left nut for the taste of a single fresh strawberry.
Draco,
It’s been wedding fever here lately. Ginny and Harry were married last month with a giant party, followed closely by Pansy and Neville. Then George and Angelina were married in a double ceremony with Percy and Penelope. I fear it may be catching, Ron has been commenting on how lovely and green a quidditch pitch would look for a wedding reception.
Granger,
I just saw the article. Congratulations. I wish you nothing but happiness.
---
The 781st annual conference of potion masters was so far exceedingly dull. The organisers seemed to have tried to get the most doddery old fools to have their moment in the spotlight by discussing the most inane and complex potion theories to ever exist. Theo was napping in the chair beside him, his head tipped forward at what looked like an incredibly awkward angle, a thin line of drool pooling on his shirt. Theo had spent the past year learning what an iPod was from Ralph, one of the senior geologists on the project, and now had a crippling addiction to heavy metal bands. Poor Professor Margery May had no chance against this, her mouselike voice too timid to register in Theo’s undoubtably damaged eardrums.
“What time is the portkey tomorrow?” Draco turns to ask Blaise on his other side.
“Fucking early,” he gripes. “We have to be at the Argentinean embassy by five.”
“Gods.”
“Right? Not much point sleeping tonight. We’ll have nothing to do on that bloody boat. Last night of freedom, mate, before we dive into another six months of darkness and nothing but research for the next year.”
“True,” Draco mutters, reaching into his pocket for the program. He flips through it and then freezes, seeing the last speaker of the evening.
Hermione Granger.
Granger. Still.
Not a Weasley, not yet.
Although, Draco muses, she would more than likely keep her name. At the very least hyphenate. He couldn’t imagine her being anything besides Granger. His heart thumps torturously against his chest, as though it remembers when he used to think in what-ifs and the version of two names he could have offered her. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he nudges Blaise, showing him the program.
“Did you know?”
Blaise glances over at the preferred paper and grins. “Oh, that’s fun.”
There is a coldness seeping into his very bones as he sits in his chair, listening to the various professors drone on.
When he received his mother’s email with The Prophet attached all those months ago, he’d opened it completely unprepared for the front page. A full photo of Ron on one knee, hair slick with sweat, still in his quidditch uniform as he gazed up at Hermione like a lovesick puppy. Draco hadn’t seen her in months and yet, his breath stuttered at the sight of her legs in her usual denims, long curls cascading down her back. Hermione had her hands covering her mouth, and Draco felt vomit rise in his throat as he read the headline. “Hearts shatter across Ireland as Weasley secures Quidditch cup and asks for Golden Girl’s hand.”
He’d deleted the email before running to the bathroom to upend his breakfast of fresh baked bread and tinned beans. He’d sent that final email a few days later, congratulating Granger and finishing the letter with a warning about satellite difficulties and potential problems emailing in the future. Cowardly, he knew, but he couldn’t pretend anymore, couldn’t open another email from her as she gushed about her life. He deleted every email she sent him unopened until finally, three months ago, he opened his inbox to nothing except work emails.
She hadn’t tried since.
He knows they said they would be friends. He wishes he were a better person, a better man, that he could want nothing but her happiness. He knows they left with no promises, but he couldn’t help that corner of his heart that hoped he would come back and return straight to her arms. That she would have wanted him as much as he still wanted her.
Instead, he finished up his year of research with a conference video call with both the muggle and magical bureaucrats to extend the project another year. Privately marvelling at how much muggle technology he had managed to conquer this past year thanks to the ever patient muggle scientists. Theo, Blaise, and Draco had subsequently returned to London via boat and portkey for a whirlwind weekend of securing new rations and equipment as well as attending this annual potions conference which Draco now very much regretted.
---
Draco knows the second she enters the bar, the hair on the back of his neck rising as he catches the scent of his amortentia. What a relief he never confessed this secret to Granger in the few scant weeks they spent hooking up. Draco can’t even refer to it as dating in his head, his heart too shattered to pretend he was anything more than an easy lay for her.
He keeps his body turned to the table, eyeing off the generic hotel art at the back of the booth, studiously avoiding looking to his left where Theo is practically mauling a fellow potion master. She’s loud, calling his name and telling Theo he’s bad over and over again. Draco is glad Blaise purchased the entire bottle of fire whiskey, as he feels he’s going to have to get mind-bogglingly drunk to have any chance of sleeping with those two going at it tonight.
Blaise has already pissed off, finding the bartender from last year again and convincing her to skive the rest of her shift in favour of having sex in what Draco thinks is a cleaning supply closet. Honestly, he’s already past tipsy and well on his way to drunk, so the details are getting fuzzy.
He drains his glass as he hears her laughter from near the bar, pouring himself another measure and quickly knocking it back. Theo removes himself from the eager girl’s lips, Draco swears he hears actual suction sounds as they pull apart. His face is covered in smeared lipstick, his hair a fluffy nest of curls.
“Top us off Drake,” Theo requests, holding his glass out. Draco obliges, filling both glasses before refilling his own. He drains the glass, knocking it onto the table when from his right, a small hand appears sliding a new glass across the table.
“Could I get in on this too?”
Theo looks over Draco’s shoulder, a massive grin overtaking his face. Draco’s eyes flutter shut, wishing he remembered how to occlude. He curses under his breath, turning slightly to take in Granger standing before him.
“Granger,” he says in what he hopes is a neutral voice.
Theo’s eyes furrow slightly at Draco’s tone, but then he nudges his girl for the night out of the booth so he can come round and give Granger a tight hug.
“So good to see you,” Draco hears her muffled words from Theo’s embrace.
“Same,” Theo says, pulling back to look at her. “Gods, you’re looking great.”
“Thank you,” Hermione murmurs and Draco clenches his jaw.
“Are you back for good, has it been a year already?”
“Back for the weekend,” Theo corrects, “They want to know why we spent all their money and have very little to show for it.”
Hermione laughs. “I’m sure you’ve made great strides.”
Theo shrugs easily. “If you’ll excuse me, Hermione, we have an early portkey and I need to show Alice some of my….” He trails off, looking at Draco. “Yeah, whatever, we’re going to have as much sex as we can before I get locked up with a bunch of smelly men for another year.”
He pulls Alice away, patting Draco on the shoulder, and then it’s just the two of them.
Hermione slides into the booth, eyeing Draco. “You look well.”
Draco smirks but worries it doesn’t reach his eyes. He pours himself another drink as he glances at her. “Nice ring.”
Hermione startles, looking down at her hand where a small ruby ring glints in the candlelight. “It was my mother’s, she passed away three months ago.”
Draco blows out a long breath. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”
“Yes, well, you had your satellite problems for quite some time,” Hermione says sarcastically, leaning over to take a sip from his glass. “Did you get my email about that engagement article?”
A muscle feathers in his jaw. “Granger, I need my drink back.”
“I think you’ve had plenty.”
“I’ve had nowhere near enough to converse with you.”
“You don’t want to talk?” Hermione asks innocently. “I thought we were friends.”
Draco looks at her for a long moment, taking in her rigid posture, her mouth pulling tight at the corner. “What do you want Granger?”
She laughs bitterly. “I thought it was going to be one year. And now suddenly you’ve added another.”
“Plans change, people change.”
“I see that,” she says, tilting her head to the side as she considers him. “I was wondering if I could show you my newest calculations for the wolfsbane potion? I think you’ll find it much improved from last year.”
Draco narrows his eyes at her, she couldn’t possibly be propositioning him. He glances at the ring on her finger, her mother’s ring. Did she swap Ron’s ring for this one, or did Ron propose with her mother’s ring? He’s dying to ask, but he worries he might actually breakdown if she recounts any of the love declarations the weasel gave her.
“Show me your notes,” he finally acquiesces.
“They’re in my room.” She gestures to the stairs. “Would you like to come up?”
---
As soon as she unlocks the door to her suite, she turns towards him. Moving to wrap her arms around his shoulders as she drags his mouth down to hers. Draco wishes he could say he was a good man, a moral man. That he pulled back and told her he couldn’t sleep with an engaged woman. Draco knows deep down, however, that he is selfish and awful. He grips her curls tight, pulling her head back so he can press his tongue against her neck, feel her pulse fluttering. She’s pulling his shirt off, unbuckling his belt already. As though she’s been thinking of nothing else for the past year.
Once his shirt is off, he steps out of his shoes, toeing off his socks. He’s about to ask her what she wants when she drops to her knees in front of him, pulling his open pants down with her. Draco throws his head back, knocking into the wooden door as she plants a soft kiss on the vein under his cock, already rigid and leaking for her.
“What are you doing?” he asks and then groans as she swallows him down, squeezing her hand around his base.
She releases him with a pop, glancing up at him. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Fuck no,” Draco utters harshly.
She swallows him back down, twisting at the base in the exact way he taught her he liked a year ago. He lets her suck him for several minutes until he feels a warning tingle in his balls. Reaching down to wrench her up as he carries her to the bed. He almost rips her dress in his haste to get it off her, not stopping until she is naked and trembling in front of him. He lays back on the pillows, pulling her down to settle over his hips.
“More, Granger?”
She nods, eyes wide in the moonlight as she takes him in her hand, rising on her knees to sink onto him. A year has never felt longer as she envelops him in her warmth. Draco throws his head back against the pillow, the tendons in his neck tight as he groans.
“Fuck Hermione.” He raps his fist on the bed beside them. “Give me a minute, it’s been a long time.”
He breathes deep, before opening his eyes, the silver glinting in the low bed light. He pulls her forward, gripping her hips to urge her to move against him. Hermione whimpers, hair falling forward as she leans over him. Her eyes close as she gets lost in the sensations and Draco leans forward, taking her nipple in his mouth to suck.
She groans his name, her pace speeding up. “Draco, I need you, I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” Draco urges, curling his hand between her thighs. He presses his ring against her clit, and she bucks, crying out.
“Draco, yes.”
“Keep going,” he says, moving her hips forward with his other hand as he sucks a spot under her jawline listening to her voice catch. She stills, warmth flooding his hand as she whimpers, and Draco rolls her over, thrusting furiously as he feels his release barrelling towards him.
Hermione almost immediately falls asleep, boneless, and limp as she curls into his side. Draco runs his fingers through her curls, stroking her head as she falls deeply asleep. Eventually, Draco finds his eyelids growing heavier, falling asleep with the scent of her curls all around him.
---
When the alarm he set on his wand the previous day sends a sparkle of lights into the air, followed by a gentle chiming, Draco stirs, stretching cautiously. He moves his arm out from under Hermione, careful not to jostle her. Fumbling in the grey dawn, he finds his clothes, dressing silently. He can only pray Blaise or Theo remember to grab his bag from their suite for him. He watches for a moment as she lays there in the soft morning light, her hair fanning across the pillow, a single curl dancing in front of her face in time with her inhalations. She’s sleeping on her stomach, the sheet only just covering her arse. Draco sees a love bite on the side of her breast and grimaces in mortification. Gods, what was he thinking. He finds a notepad and pen on the small desk, leaning down to scrawl a note to her.
If you wish to tell Ron what happened last night, I’ll own up to my ill-advised actions and apologise to him. But, if you think you have to tell him because you don’t want this threat hanging over your marriage, please rest assured I would never do anything that might jeopardise your happiness.
This secret would die with me.
Be happy, Hermione.
Draco
---
Draco, Theo, and Blaise get to the embassy with ten minutes to spare. Slumping back against the ornate stone pillar, Draco looks over the empty courtyard for the portkey.
“Did they tell you what it was this time?” Blaise asks, a large cup of black coffee gripped tight in his hand.
“They never fucking do,” Theo complains, kicking at empty soft drink cans with his boot. “I think it’s a requirement to work in portkeys, must be a giant git.”
“Why don’t you work there then?” Draco comments, ducking as Theo kicks an empty Coke can towards him.
“Got it,” Blaise shouts and Draco and Theo cross the courtyard to him. Blaise points to the wind chime hanging under an archway of flowers, the wind chime ending in a series of tiny penguin charms.
“Bit on the nose,” Theo mutters, and then his eyes light up as he sees something behind Draco. “Oh, oh, look out mate.”
“What?” Draco complains and then he hears her voice.
“You were just going to leave again?”
He turns around, startled to find Hermione in her trench coat, shoved over red flannelette pyjama bottoms. “Granger?” he asks, mystified.
She moves up to him and Blaise and Theo quickly duck away as she shoves Draco’s chest. “What the fuck, Draco?”
“What?” he asks, too baffled to keep his voice down.
“You didn’t say goodbye, you were just going to leave, again!”
“Yeah, Hermione, I was,” Draco says, annoyance creeping in. “I left a note. Isn't that enough? You wanted me to wake you, say I'm fine being your dirty little secret? I wouldn't tell him.”
“Tell who?” Hermione screeches, stepping closer to him.
“Your fiancé?” Draco shouts back. “Obviously, I wouldn’t tell Ron that we slept together last night.”
“I don’t have a fiancé!”
“You—” Draco feels his mouth fall open. “You—you’re not engaged?”
“No,” Hermione says, voice shaking. “I was never engaged, which you would have known if you had bothered to respond to any of my emails.”
“You? But, I saw it, I saw him proposing to you.”
“Yes, he proposed. I never said yes, you idiot. We were staying with Harry and Ginny in separate rooms, you oaf. I never got back together with him, how could I when I was still stupidly in love with you?”
Draco thinks he might have slept through his alarm to go to the portkey. There is no other explanation for him to be standing in front of his dream girl, watching her declare her love for him.
Fuck, Blaise and Theo will be so pissed at him if he’s missed the portkey.
“Are you really here?” Draco says on a gasp, reaching out to hold her arms.
She is warm and solid and so very real.
She leans into him, and his hands move up to cup her jaw, fingers trembling.
“Granger,” he chokes out, watching her eyes fill with tears. “Gods, Hermione, I love you too, I’ve loved you for so long. And I tried to stop. I thought you were his. I tried to stop myself from loving you, but I couldn’t. I could never.”
She lifts on her toes, her mouth stamping over his, and he groans into her mouth, leaning forward to deepen the kiss.
A throat clears behind him. “Ah, hey lovers, this is awkward but Draco you have to come hold this portkey like now. Cause if you miss the boat, you’re screwed.”
Draco pulls his mouth back from Hermione’s, leaning his forehead against hers. “I can’t believe I have to go now. I have to leave for a year.”
Hermione smiles, eyes sparkling. “I know you do. Will you reply? If I email you again?”
Draco nods. “Yes, yes, I promise.” He swallows convulsively. “I don’t know how to ask you to wait for me, but I want to ask. So desperately.”
“You don’t have to ask me.” Hermione leans forward, kissing him gently. “I’ve already chosen to wait; I’ve already chosen you.”
“One year.”
“Yes,” she whispers.
“A year seems like nothing compared to forever.”