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Hermione had a problem.
“I just don’t think it’s working anymore,” he said, rubbing his neck sheepishly. The absolute gall to be sheepish while breaking up with someone!!
“What do you mean?” Hermione growled a little too forcefully. She smothered her anger that was radiating from her face. Her voice grew soft like warm butter. “Anthony, I thought we were doing so well?”
And she had thought that! Three long months. The second-longest relationship that she had experienced thus far since leaving Hogwarts. First, of course, with Ron. A whopping seven months! From post-Battle of Hogwarts to November of that year.
That was four years ago. And ever since then, a strange pattern had cropped up. Something that Hermione couldn't ignore anymore.
“…And you’re…” Anthony warily furrowed his brows. “You’re not listening to me.”
Uh-oh, Hermione hadn’t been paying attention to his rant. That wouldn’t help her case. She would have to use her trump card.
Leaning in, Hermione pressed her arms inward, hoisting the girls up. She cursed herself for wearing a cozy, thick jumper. But it didn’t matter. Anthony Goldstein remembered her curves. Her supple skin was hidden under her late fall clothes.
“Anthony, you don’t want to end this,” she simpered.
The wizard slowly dragged his eyes up from the faint outlines in her mohair knit. “I very much do,” he deadpanned.
Blacked out drunk was her intention when she walked into the Leaky.
“There she is,” Ginny cooed upon approaching Hermione’s table. A small gaggle of witches followed her.
“You’re crying over Anthony Goldstein?” Pansy said not-so-sweetly. The curly-haired witch discreetly wiped away a stray tear because she truly wasn't crying over him, which was a bit sad in itself.
“He had a lot of nargles.” Hermione wasn’t sure if Luna was saying that to agree with Pansy or not.
Ginny clapped, taking on the persona of mother hen. “Alright. The Council of Witches has assembled…”
“Wait, wait! I’m here!” Lavender called from over the Friday night crowd. She violently shoved a tipsy patron to get closer to the table. “I’m so sorry, Hermione.” The blond witch threw her arms around her shoulders, burrowing her face into Hermione’s mohair jumper.
“Thanks, Lavender,” she said honestly. Even though the witch was married to her ex, she had become a good friend over the years.
“Witches,” Pansy said loudly. “We are here to rehash this year’s failed relationship.”
“I really thought he was the one,” Hermione sighed.
“Really? Sorry. But really?” Ginny blinked incredulously at her.
“I thought he’d at least make it to New Year’s. Maybe Valentine’s Day.”
“Definitely not Valentine’s Day.” Pansy punctuated by gulping her fire whiskey. Her giant emerald wedding ring nearly blinded Hermione.
“You always do this. Every November since Ron,” Ginny said softly. Her left hand gripped Hermione’s. The Potter modest ruby ring winked at her. “How about we celebrate you today?”
The curly-haired witch petulantly scrunched her face in protest.
“Or! Or we can curse Anthony.” Pansy leaned in conspiratorially, patting the breast pocket of her smart suit jacket. “I have the Parkinson grimoire. The one that the DMLE ‘took’.”
“I, too, brought something that could help,” Luna announced. She reached into her robes, comically pulling out numerous items. Her infamous pink glasses. Small wooden boxes that suspiciously shook. A small framed wedding photo of her and Theo Nott kissing under the full moon. “Ah-ha!” Finally, Luna pulled out a small perfume bottle with the label ‘Nargle repellent’.
Tears pricked at the corners of Hermione’s eyes anew. She loved her friends, but the reminders of how all of them weren’t alone during the holidays weren’t helping.
“You can say what you want because you all have someone,” she said, allowing her voice to wobble. She didn’t often allow her vulnerability to show. It felt good to do so in front of The Council. “You all haven’t experienced the cold winter alone. You all don’t experience being the third wheel at the lighting of Diagon Alley. You all have someone to kiss at midnight.”
Hermione’s tears stunned her friends' silence. They all gawked at her, even the ever-dreamy Luna seemed lucid.
“How about,” Lavender broke the silence, reaching for Hermione’s hand. “How about we do something about it? We’re all witches, right? Why don’t we manifest the perfect wizard for you?”
A watery laugh fell out of her mouth. Even though she wanted to say, That’s not how magic worked, Hermione gave a weak nod. Maybe wishful thinking was what she needed to break this five-year lonely streak.
“Well, you need someone who will be okay with your bonkers work schedule,” Pansy sniffed.
“Someone who almost could read between the lines because you may talk a lot, but you don't always mean what you say,” Ginny said thoughtfully.
“A wizard that ravages you,” Lavender giggled excitedly. “My book club has been reading some spicy books.”
Everyone but the redhead nodded enthusiastically. It seemed Ginny was trying to quash the idea that her brother had sex.
“I just want a warm body. Maybe the next one that walks into the bar,” Hermione announced. An almost tingle of what felt like magic tickled her skin. But she shrugged it off, believing the feeling was the alcohol warming her skin.
To that, the girls cheered before turning their eager gaze to the door. They watched with bated breath as it shook and pulled outward.
“Oh, my gods!” Pansy howled with glee.
A wizard old enough to be Hermione’s grandfather stepped forward.
Hermione mentally willed the man to go away. She was uncharitably sure that the wizard probably wouldn’t make it to Christmas Eve.
But before he stepped fully into the pub, he looked around, confused. Shook his head before leaving entirely.
A sigh of relief sagged her body against the table. Pansy and Ginny were loudly cackling with each other.
“He would’ve been a good match for you,” Luna quipped, which only reinvigorated the laughing fit from the rest of the Council.
“Shut up, you lot!” Hermione yelled, ignoring the jingle from the front door. She opted to yell at her friends instead.
But before she could launch into a lecture on being kind to their cursedly single friend, Pansy stood up from her chair with wide eyes. “Draco?”
It felt like the whole bar had stilled at the utterance of the newcomer’s name. Hermione slowly turned, forgetting her indignation altogether. Her eyes landed on someone that she hadn’t seen in five years. The last time she laid eyes on Draco Malfoy was at his trial. Then, he was an emaciated teenager, barely at the age of eighteen. Despite Hermione and Harry’s best efforts, Malfoy became the youngest Death Eater sentenced to Azkaban. The Ministry wanted to make an example out of him.
Five years later, standing in the Leaky Cauldron, dressed in all black, was a completely transformed wizard. His chiseled face wore a blank expression. His infamous white-blond hair buzzed to reveal an infuriatingly perfect skull. Not only did he grow vertically, but he also bulked up, causing the shoulders of his wool coat to strain a touch.
“I was wrong. This one…” Luna trailed off
His cold grey eyes moved over the table of witches, briefly taking in Hermione, before landing on Pansy. He moved closer.
“When did you get out?” Pansy’s voice swelled with rare emotion.
“Earlier,” was all he said.
They waited for him to continue, but he didn’t.
“And you came here?” Pansy asked.
He gave her a curt nod. That seemed to be the other difference as well. The Malfoy of years before didn’t know how to shut up. Something about this made Hermione’s bleeding heart ache for the wizard. Even though he was a bully and a branded Death Eater, he was still a child. Someone who was punished because every adult failed him.
“Why didn’t you return to Malfoy Manor?” Luna asked dreamily, oblivious to Hermione’s flinching.
But Malfoy noticed. A grim line formed on his lips. “Will never return.” His cool eyes returned to Hermione’s coffee brown ones. Something passed between them. An understanding.
“Of course, you won’t. Your mother never did. She’s living in France anyway. Do you want me to set up a portkey or something?” Pansy fretted.
“Can’t.”
“If you’re worried about your parole,” Ginny chimed in, “Harry works at the DMLE. He has real pull now…”
Malfoy gave them a sharp shake of the head, ending the conversation.
“Well, then you will stay with Neville and me for as long as you need!” Pansy declared. “Sorry, ladies, to cut the meeting short. We’ll reconvene later.”
“Of course,” Hermione murmured, watching as Pansy corralled the giant wizard through the crowd. Every so often, he’d look back at her, and their eyes would connect. She felt her face blush from his attention.
She heard him say sorry to Pansy, but she waved him off. Right before they left, she was sure the witch was blabbing about Hermione’s upcoming winter troubles.
Days became weeks. Before she knew it, November ended with a whimper. Hermione stopped mourning the loss of a warm body right before winter. She had become too busy with cases and eradicating outdated laws.
Since Malfoy’s trial, Hermione poured herself into Magical Law, becoming the youngest member of the Wizengamot to date. Being instated as the Minister of Magic, Shacklebolt cleaned house, sacking, arresting, and retiring any members who held sentiments aligned with Voldemort. That was the compromise when it came to sentencing Malfoy. They had to really show a strong front when it came to ridding the wizarding world of anything that smelled of bigotry.
Because of the many vacancies, members of every walk of magical society applied for seats. Now, old, white wizards were the minority, who held blood-tied seats. Something magically promised to many pure-bloods. Though some of their comments towards young witches were questionable, they were overall harmless. But still thorns in her side.
“Miss Granger, may I say that Muggle blouse is quite becoming on you?" Gulliver Macnair's eyes made the trek up from the girls to her face. "But this new law you are proposing is unheard of."
“Member Macnair, requesting an amendment to an existing law regarding workers’ rights, is not unheard of. We should be capping work weeks to forty hours!” It took a lot of effort for her not to screech. How could a so-called civilized society not see that people could not physically work a hundred hours a week (present company excluded, she rather found going into a fugue state while working soothing).
“What if the work isn’t finished for the week? What then?”
“Then either save it for the next or get paid overtime,” she answered simply.
“Overtime. By how much?”
“Time and a half.”
Chatter erupted around her. She could see she was losing the goblin vote. But the representative of the squibs and hags, who did most of the menial labor, seemed to be all ears.
Shacklebolt slammed his gavel to call the chambers to order. “Now, now. As the holiday season is coming up, we will have to table this discussion until the new year.”
“But—“ Hermione tried.
The minister held up his firm hand, silencing her. “Before the session ends, I’d like to introduce a new member.”
Dramatically, the doors swung open to reveal a dark figure.
“Mr. Malfoy will be taking his birthright seat.”
A spotlight lit up the empty seat among the pure-blood bloc. For the past five years, it sat empty since Lucius Malfoy died at the Battle of Hogwarts and his heir was sentenced to Azkaban.
Hermione watched the wizard march into the room, ignoring all the eyes pinned on him. He stood ramrod straight next to her on the floor. She felt a familiar tingle of magic spark between them. She looked at him sidelong. He didn’t seem to notice.
“Ms. Granger.”
She perked up. “Yes, Minister.”
“You’re to settle him into his new position.” An innocent grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. “As you are the unofficial chair of morale.”
Pretending not to hear the snickers from her colleagues, she turned to the newest member. His slate grey eyes stared at her, nearly making her jump out of her skin.
“Let me show you to your office.” Hermione didn’t mean to sound so small. But the way his eyes pierced down to her soul made her feel small.
She gestured for him to follow her to the back doors that led to their offices. As they walked, she felt his intense gaze prickle the back of her neck. That only made her babble.
“As you can see, this long hall houses many of the Wizengamot’s esteemed former members. I’m sure you noticed that there are some blank spaces. Well, let me tell you. A lot of them were not happy to see the likes of me walking through these hallowed halls. I’ve heard quite a few variations of Mudblood. Some of dating back to— “
“Why are you the unofficial chair of the morale?” he sharply cut in, much to her relief. She was about to list off all the offensive but strangely cute words the portraits used for Muggleborns.
“Oh, well. When I started, I suggested we host a get to know each other party to boost morale and strengthen camaraderie. Janice the hag was the only one who showed up.” A slightly embarrassed smile showed up on her face. “Here we are.”
With a flourish, Hermione whipped open the door that read Malfoy. A plume of dust erupted into her face. Doubled over, an embarrassing coughing fit ensued.
“Erm, here—“ Cough. “—it is.”
She turned towards him with her hand over her mouth, expecting a crack in his visage, the old Malfoy readying a vicious quip at her expense. But no. The new Malfoy had no humor. He looked at her blankly, all the warmth or joy gone from him.
Malfoy held out a handkerchief. For a moment, she stared at it, unable to comprehend what was happening.
“For the drool,” he said matter-of-factly, pointing with his free hand at his mouth.
“Wh-what!?” she stuttered. She opted to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand for quicker results. Her face felt hot with embarrassment.
Malfoy continued to stare as he put his unused handkerchief away.
Feeling rather rude for not taking his offering, Hermione gently gripped his shoulder. “Thank you, Malfoy.” She felt him tense up. Realizing how familiar she was acting, she released him. “Sorry. Erm, I’ll leave you to it. My office is just around the corner. If you need anything…” She looked up to see him staring where she had touched him. “Erm, yeah. See you.”
With that, Hermione scurried away to the safety of her office. Once she was behind closed doors, sat at her desk, she slammed her face into her hands and released a controlled scream.
The rest of the day, she busied herself with work. Refining her arguments for the forty-hour workweek. So, come the new year, she’d convince the goblins to join her. The progressive bloc she led and other creatures’ members would fall in line, leaving the conservative (pure-bloods) to be a minority yet again.
As she finished up her sixtieth run through, she checked her watch and found that it was ten pm, a perfect stopping point. Hermione gathered her things. She stepped out of her office.
“Oh!”
There sat Malfoy, staring blankly at the wall. Once he heard her, his slate eyes shot up. She craned her head, following him as he stood at his full height.
“Malfoy, what are you doing here so late?”
“I’ll walk you home.”
Hermione furrowed her brows. How did he know that she walked home from the ministry? Before she could pose the question, he continued, “Pansy.”
Of course, the queen of snakes would also be the queen of blabbing. “I really appreciate the sentiment, Malfoy, but I’m a grown witch. I’ll be okay.”
In response, he grunted and turned away, waiting for her to walk. It was clear he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Hermione sighed. Maybe this was a good thing. They were going to be colleagues after all.
“Well, since you insist, I shall tell you all the things that have changed and catch you up on office gossip.”
In the mild winter night, Hermione told Malfoy everything. From the shuffle in Wizengamot members to the mystery of the yogurt thief and everything in between. During the short twenty-minute walk from the Ministry to her flat, Hermione learned two things. The first Malfoy was not an active listener but an intense one. The only reason she knew he was listening at all was that he would give subtle nods. Other than that, he was a blank slate. Secondly, because of his silence, Hermione felt compelled to speak for two people.
“If you ask me, that was a rather reasonable response, but our other found it violent and uncalled for. And that is why Wizengamot Member Belle refuses to be alone in the same room as Wizengamot Member Cabaret,” she surmised by the time they reached her front door.
Malfoy snorted in acknowledgement. Not really agreeing with her, but possibly?
The two of them lingered for a moment. Hermione was unsure of what else to say. Malfoy wasn’t truly a friend, nor was this anything other than a colleague walking her home. But still, something underneath the surface was happening between the two of them.
“Erm…”
At least for Hermione. From the looks of Malfoy, one couldn’t tell much anything happening. His emotions were tightly withheld behind a visage of indifference.
“Thank you for walking me home. It was actually really nice to talk. Or more like gossip with someone other than Janice the hag. As you could imagine, goblins don't have it in them to humor wizards on that front.”
A genuine smile spread on her face. Momentarily, maybe it was her imagination, but the sheet of ice on his face melted. But in a blink, it froze over again before Malfoy nodded. He turned and marched down the street.
For the rest of the session, right before their regularly scheduled holiday break, Hermione would work late, find Malfoy waiting for her outside, and he’d walk her home. The topic of conversation varied every time, but one thing was clear.
“I feel like I’m monopolizing the conversation, Malfoy,” Hermione pouted on the walk back to her flat. She finally dared to speak up on the last night before their break.
No response.
Hermione turned over to see that his steely gaze was fixed ahead. As per usual, nothing readable played over his features. Before she could cajole a response from him, a frosty breeze blew through them. She clutched her winter cloak closer to her body, but it did little to stave off the cold.
Then, she felt warmth. The scent of pine, peppermint, and something masculine permeated her senses. Shocked, she looked up to find Malfoy invading her space. He cinched his warm cloak around her neck.
“Malfoy! We have about fifteen more minutes of walking,” she protested. Her fingers attempted to undo his work.
“It’s fine,” he said before pulling up the hood over her head, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. The sliver of skin on her earlobe was on fire from his touch.
Warmth bloomed from her chest, making a steady ascent to her hairline. She was sure he could see her face blush, but as always, nothing betrayed his emotions.
They continued towards her flat in a comfortable silence. By the time they made it to her door, a thought occurred to her.
“Malfoy, I don’t know if Pansy mentioned, but there’s a lighting ceremony happening tomorrow in Diagon Alley. If you’re available, would you like to go?”
A flicker of something played across his marble-like features. Surprise? Regret? Something entirely new? Then they settled into nothing. “I can’t.”
“Oh.” Hermione tried very hard to hide her emotions, namely disappointment. Unlike the blond wizard in front of her, she was no master. “Of course, you’re busy. I’ll see you after the hols—”
“I’ll try,” he cut in.
“No! You don’t have to—”
“I’ll try,” Malfoy said with finality before turning and marching away.
That foreign feeling of hope sparked in Hermione’s chest. Her hand clutched at that dull ache, realizing she was still wearing his winter cloak. Oh, Merlin. What was wrong with her? She was edging on mid-twenties. Standing here getting fluttering feelings for a former bully, now colleague, was unbecoming.
Even so, later that night, Hermione lay staring into the abyss, wondering how tomorrow night would go. In the dark, she could admit that Malfoy had grown quite handsome. Though she could only fill in the blanks of how he felt, there was something refreshingly real about him. He didn’t push her to be anything other than herself. Without fail, every night, he'd be outside her door, waiting for her. Unlike past wizards, he never admonished her for working late or talking too much.
Hermione could finally acknowledge that Malfoy’s strong, silent presence was exactly what she didn’t know she wanted.
“Fuck,” she whispered into the night.
That scared her. But most of all, it was exciting to discover something new.
The next day, Hermione fretted over her appearance like a schoolgirl. She tore through her closet like a bat out of hell, searching for the perfect balance of chic, a touch sexy, and not at all desperate. She pulled out old clothes that her cousin had sent her. A low-cut powder blue cashmere sweater, boyfriend-cut jeans, camel suede with shearling trim winter jacket, paired with a comfortable pair of trainers. Casual but a bit daring. She opted to leave her wild curls down. Wizards usually were drawn to touch her hair. From last night, Hermione could tell Malfoy was not immune.
“Don’t you look fresh,” Pansy said conspiratorially.
Hermione tried very hard to hide her dismay at seeing just the Longbottoms. It seemed he couldn’t make it after all. The group decided to meet at the Leaky Cauldron to do the long march through Diagon Alley and witness the lighting through the night.
“Oh?” Hermione innocently looked down at her attire. “This? I dug it out of the back of my closet.” Technically true.
Pansy narrowed her sparkling eyes. “I’m on to you, Granger.”
Bewildered by the sudden scrutiny, Hermione turned towards the exits. She couldn’t let on that she was waiting for a particular blond wizard. “Shall we?”
“Wait,” Luna announced. “There’s someone else that we’re missing.”
A spark of hope appeared in her chest, making her itch. She slowly turned to survey the ragtag group. There were Ron and Lavender bundled up, and the rest of the Weasleys with their partners. Harry and Ginny held little James between them. Luna and Theo were both wearing pink glasses. Pansy and Neville dressed in fine cashmeres and wools as if they came off a Milan runway.
Then there was Hermione with her dumb hope.
“He said he couldn’t make it, darling,” Theo chimed in. “His mother is in town.”
The spark fizzled into nothingness, leaving Hermione cold and ready to get the night over with. She spun on her heels.
“Let’s move out!” she commanded like a grizzled general.
The walk was more like a death march for Hermione. It was cold, lonely, and slightly miserable. A part of her felt like a hanger-on as the not-cold-lonely-slightly-miserable group stopped to gaze up at the lighting of parts of Diagon Alley. She could barely contain her atrocious mood.
“Granger, don’t be so sour,” Pansy teased.
Much to Hermione’s relief, the group finally made it to the end of the march, where there was a gigantic tree. The Minister for Magic stood on a podium speaking about holiday joy or some rubbish.
“I’m not sour,” she responded sourly.
“For what it’s worth, he really wanted to come. But you know, his mother and all that. She’s all he has left,” the other witch said softly.
Hermione did understand, of course. Her own parents were a whole world away. They did remember her but chose to live their lives in Australia. She missed them every day, but that was the consequence of her actions.
She took in a sharp breath, willing the miserable feelings to dissolve.
“…with that I, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic, will light—”
A large commotion in the crowd distracted Hermione. She turned to find…
“Sorry, I’m late.”
She blinked several times to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. Hermione did read about a lonely witch conjuring a Tulpa to be her boyfriend. It was an interesting but sad study on mind magic.
“Draco!” Pansy exclaimed.
“What are you doing here, you bastard?” Theo asked through a large grin.
“I told you we were missing someone,” Luna said dreamily.
Malfoy didn’t acknowledge anyone. His grey stare was pinned on Hermione the whole time.
“You’re just in time,” she said, slightly breathily.
A small crack in his visage clued Hermione in on his feelings. Relief.
The two of them turned back to the tree. The Minister flicked his wand and magically from the base all the way to the top. The tree lit up, and fireworks from The Wizard Wheezes flared outwards, forming stars and presents in the sky. On the ground, couples huddled together. Wizards, witches, and wixes slung their arms around their partners.
Hermione subconsciously stepped closer to Malfoy. He didn’t make a move. She didn’t expect him to. All she needed was his presence on this cold winter night. She looked up at him. He was dressed in a black wizarding suit with a thick wool overcoat. Strangely, he had a grey knit hat over his buzzed white-blond hair. An image of either Narcissa or a house-elf fretting over him because he needed something warm to cover his head played in Hermione’s mind. A stifled giggle escaped her lips. But Malfoy didn’t seem to notice. He continued to stare ahead. Through his slate cold eyes, she could see the flicks of colorful lights. It struck her then that this was the first time he had witnessed the lighting of the tree since his incarceration.
She felt a painful constriction in her chest, which charged her forward. She gently grasped his warm hand. The touch startled Malfoy. He looked down at her with slightly widened eyes. Hermione smiled up at him warmly.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered only for his ears.
“I’m glad too,” was all he said before they turned back.
Slowly, the crowd disbursed. Hermione suspected that Pansy and Luna played defense, pushing their friends to leave first and not take notice of Hermione and Malfoy. Eventually, it was just the two of them walking through the empty, lit streets. As usual, Hermione spoke extensively of what Malfoy missed during the march.
“I keep telling Pansy that I don’t care that they’ve gotten into leather,” Hermione lamented.
A twitch in his mouth told her he agreed.
It felt like no time for them to reach the door to her flat. A sudden fear that she’d lose Malfoy gripped her. So, she blurted, “Come inside. Have tea with me. Also, I still have your cloak from yesterday. I laundered it.”
Hermione looked up, slightly afraid he’d say no. But to her relief, he nodded. She fumbled with her wand to get the right combination of flicks to open the lock. When they got in, she realized that it was not guest-ready.
“Oh, Christ. Please don’t judge me!” she shrilled as she ran around her flat picking up tossed clothes, takeaway boxes, cat toys, and used tissues.
Malfoy didn’t say anything. When the sofa was cleared away, he took a seat.
It wasn’t until Hermione was alone in the kitchen, away from his gaze, that she realized that Malfoy was in her fucking flat. Slight panic set in. She knew she was attracted to him. He was extremely handsome and tall. Now that he rarely spoke, she could see that his lips were of the kissable variety. The buzzed-cut made Hermione want to run her fingers through it to feel the satisfying prickle sensation.
After a moment, she reminded herself that she was an adult woman who had had many suitors before. Malfoy would be no different. (Except he was different, and Hermione desperately wanted him to stay beyond the holidays. She wanted to always witness the lighting ceremony with him. She always wanted to hold his warm hand. She--)
“Granger?”
Hermione blinked up, realizing that the kettle was screaming at her. Malfoy stood at the threshold of her kitchen, slowly pulling off his knit cap to reveal his perfectly shaped skull.
“Sorry!” She scrambled to turn off the stove and pull the kettle to the side.
Suddenly, Malfoy’s big hand stilled her. It was the first time he willingly touched her on his own accord. Slowly, his hand moved up to her chin. He angled her face perfectly to kiss her. It was slow, methodical, but most of all, perfect. The kiss was like a simple answer to every one of her problems.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he breathed against her lips, causing a shiver to go straight to her cunt. “We’re going to forgo the tea and go straight into your bedroom. Yeah?”
Hermione’s mouth went dry. Absently, she realized this was the most she’d heard him speak, and she liked it. So, she nodded. With her head down, she led them to her cozy bedroom. Thankfully, she made her bed in the morning.
“Sit down, Granger,” Malfoy demanded.
A breath hitched in her chest as she sat on the edge of her bed.
“I’m going to talk you through what’s going to happen.” Malfoy pulled off his suit jacket, tossing it on the pile of clothes in the corner. His ringed finger pulled at his tie, loosening his collar. Hermione could see the Azkaban branding on his neck. “You’re going to strip off your clothes, slowly. I’m going to eat you out until you come, maybe even beg for me to stop. Then I’m going to fuck you all night. Is that a plan?”
“Y-yes,” she stammered, feeling the heat rise. Her head became a bit fuzzy, full of anticipation and lust.
“Good. Now strip.”
Hermione stood and unbuttoned her jeans. She leaned over, knowing full well that Malfoy got a full view of her lace-covered assets through her deep V jumper. Eventually, she was down to her pink set, thanking whoever above gave her the foresight to wear sexy underwear.
“On the bed, Granger. And spread your legs like a good girl.”
It was embarrassing, but she did as told, panting like she was in heat. This was so intensely hot, and Malfoy hadn’t even touched her yet.
Through her lashes, she watched as Malfoy approached. His broad shoulders made him look like a warrior ready to conquer the planes of her body. Slowly, deliberately, he knelt between her spread legs. His piercing gaze never left hers.
“I’ve always wondered, ever since school, how you would taste. I’d imagine sweet like the sugar quills you were always sucking on before classes.” His breath caressed her quivering cunt. Fuck. She was getting wetter and wetter by the minute. His eyes slowly moved down to his target. “I guess no time like the present to find out.”
Without hesitation, Malfoy leaned in and kissed the satin fabric before moving it aside. His hot mouth collided with her hot center, creating a fusion beyond physics itself. This was cosmic. This was the fucking best oral sex Hermione had ever had, period. He lapped her up like a man without water for days. She was his oasis. His tongue explored her hole with such expertise that it didn’t take long for her to very loudly come.
"Please, please. I can't!" she babbled. Her hands shoved his prickly head away.
“Fuck, Granger,” Malfoy breathlessly said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Gods, you taste better than I thought.”
Hermione’s whole body trembled from the aftershock. Her vision was still spotty, but was clearing up. She watched as Malfoy took off the rest of his clothes. She sat up to continue to strip.
“Ah, ah. I want to take the rest off of you. You’re my present after all,” he said sternly.
Instead, she leaned back on her elbows to continue watching him. To her delight, Malfoy's cock was only slightly above average. She wasn’t the type to like giant penises. She liked to be comfortable during sex, thank you very much.
“Like what you see, Granger?” Malfoy asked as he fisted himself, readying to enter her. She scanned his tattooed body. His Dark Mark was no longer visible as a horn-tailed dragon covered it.
“You’ll do,” she said smugly.
“Smart,” Malfoy quipped as he approached her. "You've always had a mouth on you, didn't you? We'll have to see if it's just as sharp when in a different context."
After releasing himself, he unwrapped her. First, it was her knickers. She felt the drafty air kiss her wet cunt, making her shiver. Once her breast was released from their wired cage, he leaned down and took each one into his mouth. Hermione’s head lulled back in ecstasy. A wet moan escaped her supposed smart mouth.
“Fuck, Granger. I love hearing your voice. It’s the best thing in the world. Will you always talk to me?” He positioned himself over her. She could feel his tip prodding her opening.
“Yes,” she whimpered. “Always.”
“What do you want from me? Tell me.”
“I want you to be with me for every holid—” She was cut off when he pushed into her. The stretch was perfect. The right fit.
“Salazar,” he breathed when he bottomed out. “Every holiday. Gods. You feel so good, baby. I want to fuck you every day, everywhere. Here. In my dusty office. In your office. On vacation. During sessions. I just want you, Hermione.”
“And I want you to start fucking me now,” she laughed.
Then he began moving. It felt so good. That familiar tingle of magic she had felt all those weeks ago filled the air. It was euphoric. She inhaled sharply, feeling the impending climax. She was so lost in the moment that she couldn’t tell Malfoy what she needed. But it didn’t matter. He read her like a book. His long fingers drew circles around her clit.
“There, baby. I’ll always give you what you need. Always. You don’t need to ask for it.”
In response, she whimpered before screaming as her second orgasm crashed through her. She was pretty sure she said his first name.
“That’s right, darling. Call me by my name when you come.”
He quickly followed. She told him to come inside of her as she was on the potion. Once emptied, Draco rolled off her, pulling Hermione into his sweaty body. His nose pressed into her neck.
“Let’s take a quick kip, and I’ll be ready to go again.”
They did just that. Over. And over. Before Hermione knew it, she found herself at Grimmauld Place.
“3. 2. 1. HAPPY NEW YEAR!” The room exploded.
“Happy New Year, darling,” Draco said as he leaned down to kiss Hermione.
“Happy New Year, Draco.” She warmly smiled up at him.
Then it was February.
“Fuck, Granger. You were wearing this under your Wizengamot robes this whole day?!”
“It’s my apology for working throughout Valentine's Day.” Hermione adjusted her pink stocking straps. The lace was cutting into her skin.
“If this is my reward every time you take overtime, then I have no complaints,” he said as he leaned back in his chair.
Eventually, it was Christmas all over again. Hermione watched as Draco’s face lit up with the tree. She leaned into his warmth as his arm slung over her shoulders.
“Happy Christmas. I love you, Draco.”
“I love you, Hermione.”
Fin.