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starlitsilvereyes · 9 months

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Lick It Up

Written for @harryjamespotterweek's Day #1 Prompt: Body Worship | Rating: E | Warnings: PWP, Blowjob, Deepthroating, Praise Kink, Cock Worship | Read on Ao3

“You’re so good, Harry,” Draco says, hot breath fanning over the perspiration on Harry’s skin. “So good for me.”

Draco sinks down to his knees, silver eyes blazing through Harry as pale, aristocratic hands rest on his hips, thumbing at the hipbone through his jeans. Draco’s movements are calculated: the slide of a finger under the leather of Harry’s belt, looping it through the metal buckle; shiny, perfectly manicured nails sliding under the waistband of Harry’s pants; Draco’s warm, silky tongue licking the underside of Harry’s weeping cock.

“Fuck, Draco,” is all Harry can say, over and over again when Draco’s lips wrap around Harry’s cock, sliding him into Draco’s hot, velvety mouth.

“I love your cock,” Draco says, pulling off to suck harder on Harry’s tip. “Love the way you fit in my mouth.” He takes Harry in deeper, teeth grazing ever so slightly on Harry’s skin, just the way Harry likes.

Harry moans when his cock hits the back of Draco’s throat. The sight before him is so filthy and raw a part of him is almost ashamed. Almost. Draco’s eyes roll back when Harry pumps his hips, driving his cock deeper down Draco’s throat. He doesn’t choke on it, just taking it like he was made perfectly for Harry’s dick. Draco’s mouth is so hot and tight and smooth and perfect and–

Saliva dribbles down Draco’s chin as he gets Harry wetter from root to tip. “Fuck my throat like how you would fuck my hole. Then come inside me. I want it Harry– I want you so bad. Want your come in my mouth. Want you to fill me up.”

With that, Draco goes back to sucking Harry off like his life depends on it. He takes Harry even deeper, deeper than before and deeper than he’s ever gone. His throat tightens around Harry’s length, holds him there for a few seconds, then pulls off almost to the tip before going back down again.

Harry is dizzy from the pleasure of it. He grasps the strands of Draco’s platinum blond hair for leverage, grip tightening as he fucks himself in Draco’s mouth as Draco wished. “God, Draco, you’re so perfect– so fucking good for me–”

And then Harry’s coming with a cry, Draco’s name spilling from his tongue like heavenly sin and Draco just takes it. Takes all of it and sucks Harry harder through his orgasm and swallows all of Harry’s come, licking him until there’s nothing left.

Draco pulls off with a pop, lips red and swollen. “Good?” He has the nerve to ask.

Harry only kneels down to his level and takes Draco’s mouth with his, tasting himself on Draco’s tongue.

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phoebe-delia · 6 months

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I Have Never Been Loved Like This Before

Title from the song "Rock Me Gently" by Andy Kim. CW: very very minor injury

Scorpius will know gentle hands waking him in the morning. He will know lullabies sung low and soft in his ear. He'll have careful fingers sealing the bandage on his knees, and lips pressing a healing kiss to his injured skin. He'll wear colorful, soft clothes, have dozens of storybooks, and cuddle with plenty of stuffed animal friends to keep nightmares at bay. He'll never have a rotten Christmas or a lonely birthday. He'll want for nothing, but he'll never take it for granted.

"But most of all," Harry whispered to the pink-cheeked infant in Draco's arms, "I promise, that we will never let you know what it's like to feel unloved. "

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pixydustworld · 1 year

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The clock above the fireplace read 11:35pm. 25 minutes until midnight. They had exactly 25 minutes to consummate their marriage.

Hermione wondered how the ministry would know if her shiny new husband didn't come inside her.

She drank more champagne.

“It doesn't have to be painful.” Malfoy said, staring above her head at the wall, seeming eager to over analyze the wallpaper, “There are ways for it to be.” He took a deep breath. “Enjoyable.”

“I’ve had sex before.” Hermione said.

“You have?” His voice was a touch surprised.

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

“Loads of times.” Hermione scoffed (three times, to be specific, and it had been almost a year since the last time) “I’m an expert.”

Malfoy had the audacity to look relieved. “Good.” He said, “I’m glad you’ve had pleasurable experiences. When — when, we, consummate — ”

“Fuck.” Hermione said at the same time as him.

“— fuck,” Malfoy practically hissed, “Just. Just think of them.”

Hermione nodded. “Right.” She said, “Sure.” He was staring at her. Waiting for something; her permission, perhaps. “You can think about other people, too.”

The first time she’d had sex, Harry had been soft, if not a little too gentle. In the tent, surrounded by darkness and the ever present promise of death, their fumbling hands had met. It hadn’t been painful, but it hadn’t been overly pleasant, either. It just had been them.

The second time she’d had sex, Ron had been eager to please her, but it had felt off. Like a sneeze that wouldn’t come, like an itch just below her reach — overall, it had been unremarkable and unfortunately for her and Ron’s budding romance, a little unsettling.

The third, and subsequently final time, Hermione had decided that she needed to stop having sex with immediate members of her very small friend group, and Seamus Finnigan had been happy to oblige her.

In the middle, he’d gotten a leg cramp and accidentally headbutted her.

She’d gotten a bloody nose, and Seamus still wasn’t able to make eye contact with her without cringing.

Then, the marriage law had been announced, and Hermione had been too swept up in writing motions and testifying in court to worry about the elusiveness of her own sex life.

“Did you ever think you’d get married?” Hermione asked to rupture the silence that had stretched on for a bit too long. It seemed like a fitting question to ask, given their predicament. “I was never sure.”

Malfoy smiled and Hermione felt her stomach twist. This would all be much easier if he wasn't so handsome. “It was never my choice.” He said, “I always knew I’d marry someone my father chose for me. Perhaps that’s why I accepted all this — the lack of choice, that is something I’m familiar with.”

“You, however, fought to the bitter end.” He continued, “very valiantly, I might add. As is your nature.”

“It didn't work.” Hermione said softly. Admitting defeat to Draco Malfoy never seemed possible before — but now? It felt almost inescapable, the partnership that was materializing between them. Like the golden thread of fate was tightening around their wrists.

“You’ll figure out a way to make them suffer.”

“Not my nature,” Hermione said, finishing her glass of champagne, “That’s yours.”

The clock read 11:40pm. It seemed they could no longer avoid fate.

“If we don’t consummate,” Malfoy was saying, voice sounding far away, “And the punishment is a fine, I can pay it. I won’t pretend I’m not above bribery, either. I — we — have a lot of money. Perhaps we could buy the Minister an island? Do you think he’d like that?”

“Harry said the punishment was prison time.”

“Hm.”

Hermione stood from her chair by the fire and smoothed the nightgown over her legs, fingers trembling slightly. “Thank you,” She said, “For offering to pay a fine for me. And for hypothetically bribing the minister of magic with an island. But I think — I think this is just unavoidable. We’ll be okay.”

He smiled again, soft like the fuzzy clouds at sunrise. Hermione had never really noticed how his smile changed his entire face. “Yes,” he said, watching as she moved across the room, “We’ll be just fine.”

She lay down on the bed, closer to him now then she had been in years. The last time they’d touched had been when he’d clutched her shoulders the day of the trials, fingers tight around her flesh. When he’d apologized to her in that dimly lit hallway, tears tracking down his cheeks, uncaring of who saw.

Hermione found dwelling on the past did no one any good, but for once, she was glad he’d done so; if only for the growth that accompanied him with the passage of time.

Glad, that if this was going to happen, she would face the future with this version of Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy shifted, looming above her, his fingers finding the strap of her nightgown, twisting the fabrics softly before firmly pressing his hands on either side of her body. The mattress refused to creak, the only sound in the room their soft breaths.

“On or off?”

He waited politely for her answer, but his hands betrayed his tension, clutching almost angrily at the sheets, in danger of ripping them. Rich people, Hermione thought, could afford to rip their sheets. They could simply buy new ones.

“On.” Hermione said in a thick voice.

“On.” Malfoy agreed. “I’m going to touch you now.”

“Yes.” Hermione wished she was someone brighter, someone like Ginny or even Lavender. If they’d been assigned Malfoy, the room wouldn’t feel so thick and heavy. They’d be able to smile — they wouldn’t be frozen beneath him, skin as rigid as the bones underneath. “Alright.”

“You’re so much smaller up close.” Malfoy murmured, surprising both of them. “From afar, it’s easy to convince myself you’re a titan, towering above us mortals. But here, I think it’s undeniable.”

“I was taller when we were kids.” Was the response Hermione decided to give him. “Do you remember? I used to be taller than Harry.”

“I remember.” His thumb was rubbing circles against the top of her thigh. Just touching the skin, nothing scandalous, but Hermione felt a bit like a puritan seeing ankles for the first time.

“Do you think our child will be tall?” She asked, “Like you are?”

His touch faltered for a bit, a crack appearing in his perfect facade. For a moment, his eyes were bright, hungry. Then, he resumed his lazy touch, fingers slowly tracing down her legs, beneath her nightgown.

“I hope they inherit all your goodness.” Malfoy said roughly, “And they inherit all my height.”

Hermione had never thought about being a mother, never considered that a possibility — she certainly had never expected to become a parent with Draco Malfoy. But a life with Harry had inadvertently prepared Hermione to adapt to her environment, like those frogs that change genders.

“I’ll need to stretch you a bit.” Malfoy was saying, sliding down her body. Hermione wondered when she should start calling him Draco. Surely, soon, with the home he'd seemed to have made for himself between her thighs. “Please, just try to relax.”

“Right.”

His hot breath on her center was the only warning Hermione received before he was licking her, tongue twisting its way inside her cunt, thumb lazily rubbing her clit. She was wet, not an embarrassing amount, but not enough for him to grunt his approval, the vibration sending a shudder skittering up her spine.

“Oh,” she gasped, hips squirming against his hold, “Wha — what are you doing?”

“Shh,” he hushed her, words mumbled against her cunt, “It’s rude to interrupt.”

Then, he closed his lips around her clit and sucked, his sloppy noises filling the room. Distantly, Hermione heard someone babbling, broken cries and unfinished sentences — it took a moment to realize that voice was her own. Heat, like fire, like a dragon, spread across her body.

He was pressing her to his face, fingers digging into her flesh; each time she withered away from his tongue, his lips, even his teeth, his grip tightened, an arm pressed against the flesh of her stomach.

Finally, finally, finally, she felt one his fingers slip across her folds, sliding through the wetness. Malfoy’s fingers were so much thicker than her own, entering her with a bluntness she wasn’t accustomed to, twisting her open. Fucking her slowly, with no clear intention of quickening his pace.

“After the war,” Malfoy said, licking up her cunt with leisure, “When we were at school, I wanted to be near you every second. It was like waking up and realizing I could actually see the sun.”

She remembered, even now, through her trembling limbs, how he’d looked at her during their 8th year. It hadn’t been a predator's gaze, but one of blatant observation. Like he was truly seeing her for the first time; finally allowing himself to look.

“What a gift it is.” He murmured against her, a second finger sliding to join the first, a pleasant burn beginning to overtake Hermione, bubbling over the surface, spreading across her flesh, “The privilege to bask in your warmth.”

He devoured her until she came with a wail, on an exhale, head tossed back. Hermione twisted and twisted and twisted away, but his hold was firm. It hadn’t been like that with the others, rarely, it had even been like that with herself.

“Will that be enough?” She sniffed.

He pulled his cock out for her to see.

“Three fingers, then.” Hermione said, voice unsteady.

It was 11:53pm by the time he’d stretched her to his liking.

“Hermione.”

Hermione jerked at the use of her first name. “Yes?” She hiccuped.

He squinted up at her, hair falling over his eyes. He really looked like a stupid fairytale prince, even now, with his face glistening, wet with her, it was completely unfair. “Think of someone else. It’ll help this part.”

To her credit, Hermione tried to follow his directions.

Visions of Harry’s eyes morphed into gray, Ron’s arms around her torso tightened, the way she imagined he would clutch her to his chest — Seamus’s moans grew deeper, like his voice.

It seemed all roads led back to Draco Malfoy, and Hermione was too tired to contemplate the importance of that realization.

Earlier, he’d called her valiant. Brave. Said it was part of her nature, woven into her bones. If she had nothing left, she’d still have her bravery. Perhaps, it was time to use the courage everyone insisted she possessed.

“I’m not thinking of anyone else.”

Malfoy looked like someone had shot him. “What?”

“I’m not thinking of anyone else.” Hermione repeated loudly. Maybe he had a minor head cold and was having difficulty hearing her, “I’m thinking about you.”

“But I told you to think of the others.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“I’m not a dog.” Hermione scoffed. “I don’t blindly follow your orders.”

She ignored the way he smiled at her.

She felt him then, between her legs. Warm and heavy, a weight on her thigh, a promise for what was to come. “I’m,” Malfoy looked upset, angrier than before with the sheets, “I’m sorry that this happened. That it’s me.”

“I’m not.” The orgasms had loosened her limbs, a crack across a frozen pond; speaking to him seemed easier now, less world shattering. “I’m glad it’s you. I’ve fucked both my friends, it’s only natural that I’d carry on to my enemies next.”

“You think I'm your enemy?”

“No,” She sighed, “I think you’re my husband.”

“Say that again.”

“Husband.” She repeated. “You are my husband.”

“And you are my wife.”

Earlier cowardice forgotten, Hermione smiled up at him, all teeth. Malfoy blinked, like someone had turned on the lights. “ I’ve thought about you fucking me before.” She said softly, “Have you thought about me?”

Malfoy groaned, like he was in pain. “Constantly,” he said. “An agonizing amount. It’s time for me to fuck a baby into you. I’ll fill you up, alright? Will you let me?”

Hermione managed a confident nod.

The feel of all of him, tossed her head back.

Unfair, completely unfair, that this experience belonged to him, when already so many parts of her were his, too. His ownership over her mind had been a subtle acquisition, but this new feeling, the one burning through her, seemed to happen all at once.

“Such a good girl,” Malfoy grunted, “allowing me between your thighs.”

Then, he began to move, and the entire world seemed to tilt off axis.

Everything seemed to melt away, all that remained was Draco, the drag of his cock inside her.

She weakly clutched his arm when his fingers slid to her clit again, rubbing slow, agonizing circles. He smiled at the tears that stuck to her eyelashes, and it was a little mean.

“I won’t last,” he managed to say, “come on my cock, that’s a good girl, let me feel it.”

She felt when he came inside of her, heat spreading across her stomach. Winced slightly, when he kept fucking her, soft thrusts, fucking his cum deeper inside her.

“Have to make it stick.” He slurred.

“We can try again.” Hermione sighed, finally allowing her fingers to drag through his hair. Soft, softer than she thought it’d be — felt him twitch inside of her when she spoke. Wondered if her voice alone had the power to bring him to his knees.

“Has no one ever made you come before?” He hummed, “Does that job only belong to your husband?”

“You’ve never had a job in your life.”

She felt his smile against her skin. “Then I’ll need lots of practice.”

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ellorypurebloodculture · 8 months

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For a pairing: Draco/Harry?

"You can't possibly be serious, Draco," Heir Theodore Nott says, his voice full of censure as he stares at the pendant necklace swinging from Heir Draco Malfoy's fingers.

"I couldn't possibly be more serious," Draco replies smugly as he twirls the necklace, waiting for his quarry to descend the stairs so that he can offer it; the traditional first courtship gift offered by a Malfoy is a pendant necklace.

"He's going to throw it back in your face and refuse," Conte Blaise Zabini states.

Heir Harry Potter steps off the staircase and into the Entrance Hall, sandwiched between Miss Hermione Granger and Mister Ron Weasley, and immediately raises a hand to catch the necklace when Draco throws it at him with a, "Potter, catch!"

The smirk that spreads across Draco's face is unholy when he turns it on his best friends, purring, "Told you," with wicked relish as Harry howls with laughter and dons the necklace, the pendant of which states: Property of Heir Draco Malfoy.

#ellory writes #five sentence ficlet #draco malfoy/harry potter #drarry

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sodamnradd · 11 days

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“Give it up, Draco. You found what people spend a lifetime searching for, and you just let her leave without you.” Blaise fell back onto the leather sofa and crossed his ankles, looking pensively into the fire. “What I don’t understand is why. You keep saying that if anyone will win, it’s her. And yet here you are.”

Draco opened his mouth to deny, deny, deny. But what was the point? Blaise had seen them together in the prefects’ bath, and later, when Draco tried brushing it off as a casual hook-up, Blaise had only shaken his head and said, ‘I saw your face,’ as if that was supposed to override any lies that came out of Draco’s mouth.

His stomach had been a tangle of nerves since Granger had kissed him goodbye and disappeared with Potter and Weasley to save the world. That was the issue with Gryffindors, forever killing themselves over the next big heroic deed. He wasn’t like them.

“What would you have done?” sniped Draco. It was easy to cast judgement from afar, but Blaise wasn’t living it. “Would you just turn your back on your mother? On your friends? To hell with everyone if you’re in love?”

Blaise gave him a side-long look, grinning. “Are you in love?”

“You seem to think I am.”

“Do you see a future with her?”

“If the world wasn’t so fucked up?”

“Yeah.”

Draco didn’t really have to imagine it because it’s all he’d been thinking about since he first kissed Granger nine months ago.

It wasn’t just her physical being—the charged, tantalising pull of their bodies like opposing magnets—but a vision of what their life could look like. Granger didn’t need pure-blood persuasion to pave her way into the world. She could be self-made. And Draco would stand proudly beside her, as he did best. He could manage the accounts, pursue his hobbies, while ensuring Granger never felt alone navigating her mountainous ambitions.

Draco lived a satiated life, but with Hermione, all he knew was starvation. She was the one thing he didn’t want to barter or consume in small bites. If he had her, he was going to feast.

“It’s not that simple,” he concluded. “It’s not some playground romance anymore. She’s out there risking her life. I can’t afford to love her how I want if she’s just going to wind up dead.”

“Take this from someone who’s buried seven fathers—death is preventable.”

Draco looked up at Blaise, surprised.

His friend had an eerie look on his face, made worse by the fire casting strange shadows over him, but Draco knew the Zabinis had a complicated relationship with murder. And that’s what he meant: murder was preventable, not death.

“What makes you think I could protect her any better than Potter could?”

“The Dark Lord trusts you, you’re a sneaky fuck, and you’re in love. Nobody will fight harder to win.”

Donning a backpack full of survival gear, his wand, and the warmest clothes he owned, Draco used their matching bracelets to Port-Key to Granger the next Saturday morning.

She had woven the bracelets with colourful thread—red and gold for him, green and silver for her—and the next week, Draco had adhered matching charms to them. She didn’t know that he could sense her through it. That when she fingered the cool metal engraved with his constellation at night, he felt her presence. Or that it was a gateway to each other using the right spell.

Maybe he’d known he’d follow her all along.

The bracelet transported Draco to lush, crawling hills and enormous, craggy rocks. The sky hung bright white above him. He could sense Granger’s magic in the air, or maybe it was her perfume drifting in the breeze. He inhaled deeply, feeling closer to her already.

There was nobody around when he heard the gasp directly behind him.

He turned and saw the air wobble. The ward he hadn’t realised was there descended. Granger stood two feet away, eyes wide and lips parted. She was thin and pale and seemed afraid.

Regret washed over him. He should have come sooner.

“How do I know it’s really you?” she demanded, wand clutched tightly by her side, a combination of fear and hope flickering in her eyes.

Draco dropped his bag by his feet, taking three strong strides forward. He framed her cold cheeks in his hands, hoping she saw the look on his face and remembered how much she meant to him. He said, “Because nobody else knows how much I love you.”

He kissed her, and a second later, Granger threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back, sobbing.

“I’m here to stay,” he reassured her, holding her tightly. “I’m here to fight.”

And he thought of Blaise in the Slytherin common room, the only one who knew of Draco’s whereabouts, and their discussions of love and death. And he thought of the future he’d seen with Hermione, and he thought he could have it, maybe even a better version of it. One that didn’t involve him at home, pursuing hobbies, but being worth something, too. He could be that. He wanted to be that.

Draco wanted to feast.

(873 words, inspired by Don't Swallow The Cap by The National)

#dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione #dhr #dramione drabble #dramione ficlet #sodamnrad #sodamnraddrabbles

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hogwartsfirebolt · 1 year

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crescent

“The wolf is not really separate from me,” Harry told me after our first date. He was walking me home, hands in his pockets, broad-shouldered and freezing — his jacket hung around my shoulders. The moon was a third member of our party, waning crescent, walking alongside us. “I feel it, even now. It wants out.”

I hummed. “Is it hard? To keep down?”

“A bit. It kind of always wants out, around you.” He didn’t sound upset, rather on the verge of laughter, like it was some private joke I wasn’t privy to, not yet. “It’s kind of funny.”

I was still too quiet back then, unsure of where we were going, if we were going, and my mind raced whenever I was around him, so I didn’t fully grasp the meaning until months and months later. I watched him go through moon cycle after moon cycle, periods of restlessness, hyper-focus, pain, hunger, something more, before I began to understand what he meant.

“The wolf is me, but … uncensored. More powerful. More stupid,” he said the night he finally let me stay with him during the full moon. “I won’t hurt you, because it knows you. Just don’t let me near anyone else, we don’t want a repeat of last month.”

Last month someone had caught him transforming. He hadn’t hurt them, they’d only seen him breaking a few of his own bones, but the story had sold well to the papers, with gruesome details that couldn’t have been further from the truth. The media ate up everything related to Harry, still. It had been a year of our something by then, a favorite topic amongst the papers, but Harry insisted he didn’t care about that, only about them using his image to perpetuate the lycanthrope stereotype.

“What should I do if someone comes close?” I asked. We were far up in the highlands, but there was still a chance.

Harry grinned and circled my waist with one arm, gaze warm. “Just wiggle prettily or something. Distract me. I won’t be able to resist you.”

When I saw it for the first time, a beautiful, mighty beast of evergreen eyes and powerful strides, the wolf met my gaze head on, sniffed me curiously and, after a second of hesitation, leaned forward so I could touch its muzzle. It stuck by my side all night, and placed itself between me and the strange sounds of the mountain. A protector. It was more Harry than I ever expected it to be.

“How can you tell it’s me, when you’re the wolf?” I asked him the next morning. He was naked and shivering, but his eyes were alight with the remnants of the freedom he’d experienced, howling at the night.

He went sheepish, he always did when discussing the specifics of his animal instincts. “Your scent. It comforts the wolf. It knows you’re pack, that you’re its human.”

It took him forever to share those things with me without shame, he always gave brief answers and changed the subject as fast as he could, but when he finally gave in to my curiosity, he admitted what I, by then, already suspected.

“I knew. During our first date, and even before, it’s why I asked you out in the first place. I already knew that — me and the wolf, we wanted you. We knew it was going to be you. It used to want to leap out of my skin whenever you were around.”

And I remembered his words from that very first night and laughed, because really, it was kind of funny.

#I will never shut up about werewolves #I’m not sorry!!!!#drarry #drarry fic #ficlet #Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #mywriting

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doodleholic · 9 months

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“Draco?” The name left her mouth before she could think better of it, but it was him. His hair was longer than she had ever seen it, tied up in a rather dashing fashion. He cut a rather nice figure all around in that armor, if she were being frank.

“I am afraid you are mistaken, mademoiselle,” He said in impeccable French, his pronunciation ever so slightly off for the period. “My name is Armand.”

Hermione pressed closer, crowding him to the wall, away from prying eyes and ears.

“You look the part. I’d almost believe you, Malfoy, but I’m on assignment from the Time Division. I’ve been sent here to rescue you.”

Draco’s eyes widened, and if she’d had any doubts before, now she was absolutely certain it was him.

“Now, let’s go, before we accidentally change history. You’ve clearly been here too long as it is.”

“Granger, I can’t leave,” he said, dropping the pretense and switching to English. “As far as I can find, Armand Malfoy- my whateverty-eth grandfather- he doesn’t exist.”

…. Art for a fic I will never write because there’s this whole bootstrap paradox thing I’d have to resolve, and then I’d have to do research on the Norman Invasion. Sorry, my dudes, but I’m lazy and my attention span says ‘no’. And all I really wanted was to draw Draco with a high-pony wearing armor.

#Dramione #dramione fanart #dramione art #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione #fanart #myart #artists on tumblr #draco malfoy fanart #hermione granger fanart #dramione fanfiction #ficlet #fanart friday #kayka #doodleholic

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xx-thedarklord-xx · 1 year

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Is it?

“Daddy!”

Lucius sighed behind a copy of the Daily Prophet. He ignored the way Narcissa snorted from the other side of the kitchen table.

“Draco, we discussed this. You are to call me father.”

He didn’t have to look down to know that Draco was pouting. Five years old wasn’t old enough to have proper decorum… yet.

“But you said I could call you that in secret.”

Narcissa snorted again, and he debated about replacing her cleansing potion with a dye potion. Then they’d see if that humor lasted.

“We aren’t in secret, are we?” When he looked over the top of the paper he was proven right. Draco was pouting.

“I forgot what it meant.”

Lucius sighed again. It wasn’t worth it. Battles only mattered if they were won, and Lucius knew the moment that his son was born that Draco would win every battle.

“But that doesn’t matter!” Draco cried, hands clapping together. “You said one day I would get married and have a wife.”

“Yes,” Lucius said slowly, not bothering to look up from the paper as he began to read again. “I also said you needed to practice your studies so that you can take over the Malfoy name.”

“I don’t care about that.”

Battles. Losing battles.

“I decided that I’ll be the wife!” Draco continued; voice closer to a yell than anything polite. No decorum, he must get that from Narcissa.

“Pardon?” Lucius put down the paper and gave Draco his full attention, ignoring the wheezing laugh that Narcissa didn’t attempt to hide.

“I want to be a husband,” Draco said, puffing out his chest. “But I also want to have a husband too. So, I think that means I’m a wife.”

Decades of heartbreak, yells, fights and screams echoed in his mind before his son’s pleading eyes broke through. Lucius could feel Narcissa’s eyes on him, but this wasn’t a moment when he needed her help. Draco came to him, not her. These were his hangups, not hers. This was his time to be someone better for his son than his father was for him.

There were many criticisms that people held of Lucius—most of them true—but the one thing he wouldn’t be was his father.

“Two men can get married.”

Draco gasped at the same time Narcissa did.

“They can?” Draco did a weird set of movements that he believed was some kind of dance routine. Merlin knew where he picked up that from. The more he thought about it, Draco did spend far too much time with Dobby.

“Yes,” Lucius said with a sad tilt of his lips as he placed a hand to Draco’s cheek. “But there’s going to come a time when you’re going to have to ask yourself if it’s worth it. There will be a lot of people against it, they will expect more from a Malfoy heir.”

Draco frowned; head tilted. “But you said Malfoys don’t care about the thoughts of those beneath us.”

Lucius huffed, refusing to laugh even if his lips twitched.

“You’re right.” Would there ever be a battle he’d win with Draco? “So, then I’ll ask you. Is it? Is it worth it?”

Draco’s forehead wrinkled, tongue poked out as he made a very long and exaggerated thinking sound before he said in a tone that booked no argument,

“Yes.”

“Then you’d best find yourself a husband.”

Draco did another dance… if that was what one would call such a thing.

“Yes! You hear that mum? I get to be a husband and have one!”

“I did hear,” Narcissa said with such a soft sweet smile that Lucius fell in love all over again. “My baby is all grown up.”

Draco puffed out his chest again before he ran out of the room—with no decorum—as he said, “I have to tell Dobby! We have to start planning now.”

That brought a whole set of images that would have to be rectified as soon as possible. The last thing they needed was that senile elf planning anything.

Before he could walk after Draco, Narcissa placed a hand on top of his and said something that no one had ever told him before.

“I’m proud of you.”

And you know what? Lucius was proud of himself too. Just as he was proud of Draco—always would be.

Always.

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drarryruinedme7 · 1 year

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Harry looks sideways at Draco. They’re on their bed, ready to go to sleep.

Draco grabs his usual body cream from the nightstand, the coconut scented one. It’s the one with glitters in it.

You’re fifty, Draco.

So? Is there a law forbidding fifty year old people from using glittery body creams?

Harry would say that yes, there is, just to spite him, but not tonight.

Tonight, Harry shakes his head while he recalls every memory of their thirty years spent together. He smiles as he watches Draco spreading cream all over his legs, still so long, still so soft, still so hot.

“Thirty years,” Harry mutters.

Draco pauses for a second, legs glittering. “What?”

“I said —” Harry reaches out, traces an imaginary path down his husband’s shin. “I said — we’ve been together thirty years. That’s a long time.”

He knows he sounds sappy and he feels that too. His voice breaks and when a wicked smile appears on Draco’s face, Harry knows his mind is quickly filling with images from their shared years as well; of their fights, the first tentative and verymuchsecret dates, their first kiss, the many, many christmases, birthdays, lazy mornings spent in bed cuddling.

Draco covers Harry’s hand with his own. God. Harry knows everything about that hand; the small blue mole on the pinkie, the wrinkles time drew on it, the always, always, always, perfect nails.

“Are you trying to tell me it’s too much?”

“I’m trying to tell you,” Harry says, all too happy he’s now 100% able to discern Draco’s use of sarcasm-cause-I’m-embarrassed, “I still love you. More and more. Everyday. I look at you with your body cream and I just— love you so fucking much.”

Draco blushes. How is it possible to love someone so deeply after all this time?

“So sappy.” He turns back to his nightly routine. Looks at Harry out of the corner of his eye. “I love you too,” he murmurs.

#drarry #harry potter #draco malfoy #drarry squad #draco x harry #fluff #idk what this is #just a nightly thought #sometimes I just want them to be cute and sappy and in love #drarry fic #drarry ficlet #drarry fanfic #established relationship #married drarry #mywriting

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cyprus-green · 2 years

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Need you, Granger

Pairing: Draco x Hermione

Rated E; Male Masterbation

Summary: After six months in Azkaban Draco is stuck at a Hogwarts Reconstruction summer program. He's consumed by a certain Golden Girl and we get a view into his explicit masturbation session.

....

He palmed himself.

His hands were cool and rough--still slightly callused from his time playing Quidditch. Skin toughened from years of gripping a thick length of smooth wood.

But his hands had changed over the years. He no longer had the polished hands of a pampered heir. Six months in Azkaban could do that to you. His apperance had hardened, shoulders filled out. No longer all angles and edges. The tattoo on his neck, a reminder of how lucky he had been to let out on 'parole'.

So many things had changed in the last two years. But oh, how he savored his new-found freedom.

After six months of no privacy, he had vowed to never have another quiet orgasm for as long as he lived. An 'up yours' all to the times he tried to sneak in a wank in his small cell and had to bite down violently on his fist to silence his groans.

No more. He was determined to thouroughly enjoy himself nowadays. Not that he had anyone to enjoy with. Being a convicted death eater, even one who was acquitted on account of being a minor at the time of his crimes, could really put a damper on your dating life.

So alone he went. Savoring the feeling of rubbing his long, thick length slowly with both hands. Imagining her body taking him in, filling her to the hilt.

Her.

That girl. The fucking girl he could never quite shake.

The girl who also happened to return to Hogwarts for an optional 8th year. The girl who also happened to joined the summer 'castle reconstruction' program. The only student present who was not required to attend due to ministry mandated public service.

The Golden Girl, herself.

Hermione. Fucking. Granger.

His mouth parted and he thrust his cock up into his fisted hands.

Granger.

Mmmm Granger.

Beautiful.

And Fucking Infuriating.

Precum lubed the tip of his head as he spread it around with his wide thumb. He gently rubbed the slick up and down himself. Needing more glide, he spit into his hand and rubbed it down his length, coating his cock. It made an obscene noise and he groaned in pleasure.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Fuck. Fuck. He had needed this, so badly. It had been such a long week. Full of hard physical labor, lifting slabs of stone. Complex spells, repairing walls and floors. He had little time to do more than work, sleep and eat.

Gods, she had been right there. Wearing her awful muggle outfits that left him hard all day. Skimpy little things she said kept her cool in the oppressive summer heat. Tight shorts that sat low on her hips and rode up her ass. Tank tops with thin straps that he wanted to rip off her body. Her smooth mid drift showing everytime she pulled her wild mane up into a bun. And by all apperances she had zero clue the effect she had.

Her fragrant scent hit him every time she passed by his way. Distinctivly feminine. Apple shampoo and sweat.

By midday she was dripping in it. He wanted to lick every single drop. Wanted nothing more than to feel her body beneath his, sweating and used. Panting. Hair wild around her, cascading down her back. The evidence of her arousal all over her thighs. The taste of his semen all over her mouth and chin.

He wanted her to be filthy for him.

He wanted her to bend over and spread her ass cheeks for him, showing off her pink little holes like a good girl. Wanted to see her thighs coated in her own need, desperate.

Fuck. He palmed himself up and down again, gritting his teeth and throwing his head back against his pillow.

He could stretch her out. She was so small. Would his cock even fit the first time? Her thin shorts left little to the imagination, fabric clinging to her fat little lips--until she turned and adjusted herself. Delicious.

She'd be so embarassed if she knew.

If she had seen him stare.

If she could see him panting as he indulgently stroked himself to thoughts of her, and her alone.

Would she blush and turn around? Or would she stare and lick her lips? Letting her gaze linger on his proud cock just a second more.

His grip tightened and he twisted his hand around his head and back down.

Merlin, he needed her.

His hand went past the base of his cock and he grabbed his balls, tugging at them. They bounced heavily. He tugged at them again, and felt a familiar ache.

Fuck. He was so full. He needed to cum. So badly.

He wanted to fill her with it. He was young. Verile. Full of seed. A wizard who needed to fuck. Hard. And she could take it, with those high hips. That petite, yet solid frame. Oh yes, Granger could take a pounding.

He fisted his cock harder and groaned at the loud sloppy sounds it made.

Her cunt would be heaven. Warm. Soft. Wet. He just knew it. He wanted to taste it. To eat her out. To finger her tight cunt, to push his thick fingers in her ass as he licked and sucked at her clit. Working her body into a frenzy. Not letting her escape him even when she writhed and shook.

He wanted to make her take more than she ever thought she could. To make her weep from pleasure. To spasm and gasp and squirt all over him in confusion and shock. To grip her perfect cunt around his fingers and sob his name into the air.

He shuddered and thrust his cock up into his hand again. And again. And again. His light blond pubes beginning to become wet with spit and precum.

Fuck. What would she say if she knew? If she walked in and saw him?

His arms began to ache at the punishing speed but he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop. It felt so good. He hissed at the smooth glide over the sensitive underside of his head. He threw his head back again and cursed. She was unreal. The perfect delight for his filthy mind. The glide of his hand addicting when paired with her image.

He wanted to bite at her smooth light-brown skin. To tounge her pretty dark cunt from behind and rub her round ass while she went down on him. He wanted a close up of her pretty little pussy contracting on air. Needing his thickness. Needing his length. Needing him. Wanting him. Screaming his name. Crying out for his cock. Saying his name over and over and over. Draco. Draco. Draco. Draco.

His abs began to quiver and his eyebrows knitted together.

He was getting close and he let out a involuntary yell. His hips bucked and he felt himself on the edge of no return. He pumped his hand harder. Fucking himself, turning himself on with how wanton his need must look.

He needed Granger. His Granger.

He was so thouroughly pent up. Salazar, he would cum buckets just at the sight of her breasts. Her perky little tits. Bouncing slightly when she walked by on early weekend mornings, wearing no bra. The fucking tease. Little peaks poking through. He wanted to take them in his mouth and suck on her dark nipples. Biting her from her tits all the way up her neck and back down to her soft thighs. Marking her as His.

Granger needed his cum. She did. She needed a good hard fuck. One look at her and you could tell it was true. Her shoulders were too tight. Her posture to ridgid. Someone needed to help her let go. Needed to tame the little lion into contented submission. His little lion.

She'd beg for it. She'd beg for him to come on her tits. Or to come all over her pussy, just to fuck the cum into her with his thick long fingers. A greedy little pussy. His greedy little pussy.

Or maybe he'd just fuck her into the bed. Drill her with her ankles pushed all the way back to her ears. Banging the wooden headbord into the wall over and over. Their hip bones grinding against eachother. Her cunt rubbing his pelvic bone, hitting that spot just right. That spot that he knew would have her gushing, drenching his balls.

He wanted to taste their sex.

He wanted to grind himself into her. To make her cling to his arms, his shoulders, his back. He had always felt so skinny growing up, but she had always made him feel broad. Large. Strong. She had changed everything for him.

And recently something had changed between them. At times it felt like they were actually firting and dare he say, they had chemistry. Brushing by eachother in close spaces, knocking into one another on purpose just to feel the closeness of eachother's body.

Fuck. He thought of the way she had rolled her eyes at him today. Their verbal sparing leavng him frustrated. The little fucking brat. Needed a lesson in manners. Needed to be teased. Needed to beg for it. And he needed to taste her desperation.

Fuck he wanted to get her pregnant. The prissy little swot. To force his pleasure deep into her. To fill her again and again. Until her womb accepted his seed.

Fuck, he was close. His arm was burning at the speed. His hips snapping up to meet every single pump. The pleasure, a weight across his hips. He moved his hand from his balls and grabbed for his towel in anticipation. His hand snaked down his chest. Wet from perspiration. He tweaked his nipples and cried out sharply.

His hand remained on his flat stomach, fingers feeling his core tense again and again as his body teetered on the edge of release.

He whined. He needed it. He was chasing it. He imagined being muffled by her cunt. Her thighs around his face.

He spasmed at the thought, as he continued frantically fucking himself. Grunting and cursing every thrust. He bit down hard and grabbed his balls cupping and pulling and squeezing when suddenly his peak hit him like a steam train.

His body tensed, thrusting his cock, hard as he could into his fist. His abs tensed and he saw stars, his body hit by blinding pleasure that shot through him. He howled her name.

Hermione

Unabashed. Unashamed.

His eyes rolled back as cum shot violently from his pulsing cock. His voice rang out clear and desperate as he yelled into the air. Long strings of hot pleasure, shot out one after another. The first sailing past his head, the next hitting him in the shoulder, in the chest, on his abs and the final shot landing below his belly button. Each rope brought another groan. Another clench. Another bliss.

He continued to slowly stroke himself after his last shot. The warm, slick cum, feeling heavenly on his sensitive cock. Turning his head he panted into the pillow, letting out a shout as he needily jacked his cock, chasing another orgasm. The image of her naked writhing form flashed behind his eyes. Fucking beautiful. He found it quickly and cried out her name again. The sound of his hand on his cock, obscene.

Granger! Oh fuck, Yes. There it is. Fuck me. Yes, love. Just like that! Oh Fuck, I'm coming...I'm coming! FUCK!

His second orgasm had him shouting loudly, body spasming, his legs shaking and his hand now absolutely covered in his thick pleaure. Cum gutters filled with warm, white, need.

Slowing to a stop, he lay there absolutely drenched in his own seed. His balls empty. He stayed like that for a few moments, panting into the night air, the aftershocks making him shiver. He fought the powerful sleepiness that threatened to overtake him.

His hand shook as he loosened his grip.

Fucking Fuck.

His hand came away, just covered. He opened his eyes and surveyed the scene. It was quite the sight. And it was all her fault. Beautiful fucking thing.

After he cleaned himself off, he continued to lay there with a smile playing on his lips. He chuckled to himself as he listened carefully for any signs of life coming from his neighbor to the right. It was a dumb thought, really.

But he could dream right?

...

On the other side of the wall lay a girl with wild curly hair, smooth tan skin, and warm, kind, chestnut eyes. She grabbed for a towel and wiped her hand on it before placing it between her legs. She stifled a moan, biting her lip. Her clit was large and swollen. Fuck. So sensitive. And although she had touched herself to him nearly every night, and had craved to be as loud and carefree as he, she would be damned if she ever let Draco Malfoy know how badly she needed him. The feel of his svelte, toned body gripping her tight. Gods. She needed to stop.

If he wanted her, he was going to have to do more than wank to the thought of her every now and again.

Maybe he'd come knocking on her door one night. Come use her willing body to fulfill all his filthy needs. It was a dumb thought, really.

But she could dream right?

#dramione #draco x hermione #dramione fandom #dramione fanfiction #dramione smut #Smut #pinning draco #draco smut #draco malfoy #hermione x draco #dramione fanfic #dramione ficlet #lemon fic #smut smut smut #CyprusGreen-Writes

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getawayfox · 1 year

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Soft snowflake kisses for @rockingrobin69 🤍

#”maybe a private corner somewhere a little quieter”#yes that line is stolen from your perfect ficlet for me #I love you more than I can say #and I wish you all the little moments #like the ones from your stories #full of magic and brightness #to make your everyday beautiful #🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍#drarry #draco malfoy #harry x draco #harry potter #hp fanart

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starlitsilvereyes · 10 months

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One Day, For You

Written for @drarrymicrofic’s song prompt: we fell in love in october by girl in red | Rating: M | Warnings: Smoking, References to (past) Alcoholism, References to Harry’s Child Abuse | Read on Ao3

Draco places a cigarette between his teeth, ignoring the feel of Harry’s eyes scorching through the back of his head.

They’ve talked about Draco’s smoking habit, amongst many other things:

Harry doesn't like it when Draco goes for days without sleeping due to the nature of his job as a Healer, so he started limiting his slot appointments to fifteen each day.

Draco doesn’t like it when Harry drinks his problems away, so Harry only drinks occasionally and in moderation now.

Harry doesn’t like it when Draco keeps his darkest thoughts to himself, so he acquired a journal as to avoid bottling up his emotions.

Draco doesn’t like it when Harry would lie about being sick, even though Draco knows it’s the result of Harry’s neglect from his childhood. So Harry allows Draco to run diagnostic tests on him when he feels a bit under the weather.

Harry doesn’t like it when Draco smokes, but Draco does it anyway.

“It’s bad for your lungs,” Harry says.

“I know,” Draco deadpans. “I’m a Healer.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I know.” Draco echoes. “Please don’t ask me to stop. I will, for you, if you asked. But I can’t. It’s the only thing I have, Harry.”

A defeated expression flashes across Harry’s face. Draco wants to take it all back. He didn’t mean it that way.

“You have me,” Harry says quietly.

Draco inhales, holds the fumes inside his mouth for a couple seconds, before pursing his lips and blowing smoke out. He developed this habit when he was twenty years old, shortly after a difficult split with a Muggle man whom he opted to date just because he was young and stupid. Also in addition to having a very abnormal reaction to Harry dating Ginevra Weasley.

He will stop one day, just not now. He can’t. He won’t.

Silence settles between them until Draco finishes two sticks. He crushes the last one beneath his boot, looking at Harry as he does so.

“One day, I will, for you,” Draco says. “For both of us. Just not now.”

“Okay.” Harry nods. They both know neither of them are strangers to bad habits.

“Okay.” Draco echoes. “Coffee?”

Harry nods before leaning in and kissing Draco in the mouth, despite the lingering taste of mint and tobacco on his tongue.

Draco sighs softly, running his hands through Harry’s curls, grateful that Harry loves him enough to understand. He intends to stop smoking one day. He wants to. But for now, he won’t.

–

Note: Dedicated to my friends who worry about me. I won't ask you not to because I appreciate it. I love you. I love smoking too. I am an adult, unfortunately.

art commissions: open

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phoebe-delia · 5 months

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When The Fire Is Out

For @drarrymicrofic prompt: embers.

Harry knows his back will be killing him tomorrow. Lying on the floor this long cannot be good for him. Plus his arm is starting to tingle where Draco's head currently rests, slightly cutting off blood flow. Harry wants to move it, but he can't bear the thought of Draco's head lying on the floor, or worse, Harry accidentally waking him up.

He curls into Draco instead, careful not to jostle him, and eyes the glowing embers in the fireplace. When the fire is out, Harry thinks as his eyes fall shut, I'll take us upstairs.

Harry wakes the next morning, still on the floor in front of the fireplace, back aching. He looks at Draco, messy-haired and clinging to Harry in his sleep, and smiles before falling back asleep.

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pixydustworld · 1 year

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The marriage law was announced at 2pm on a Tuesday.

By 2:15 Hermione had already drafted a motion to dismiss the law entirely. It was a good motion, too. If she’d sent a copy to Ron, he would’ve replied with: wow! lots of words! good stuff!

At 2:17 her motion was denied.

“It’s best to just accept defeat.” Malfoy said from his side of the office, bookshelves neat, papers all stacked in order. “You won’t win this one.”

“I’m not in the habit of giving up.” Hermione snapped. Her side of the office was cluttered, less pristine. Her bookshelf had a nasty habit of overflowing all over the floor, stacks of books balancing precariously on every surface. “A fire hazard.” Malfoy had sneered at her once, “Breaking several codes.”

“Hm.” Malfoy said, “I hadn’t noticed.” He was smiling softly, like he’d just told the funniest joke in the world. Waiting, almost patiently for her to smile. Stupid man with his stupid grin, Hermione wanted to throw a book at his head.

“This is archaic.” Hermione hissed. “The Ministry has gone too far. They can't force us to marry anyone.”

Even as she spoke, a squirming feeling of doubt was beginning to take root in her chest — being friends with Harry came with many things. Companionship and love, but it also came with a healthy distrust of the government (like a free gift basket! but terrible one).

Malfoy ignored her complaints. "Marriage Acts aren't as mid-evil as you're making them out to be." He said, with that annoying voice he used when he knew he was right about something, "They serve a purpose."

"A purpose?" Hermione could practically feel the beginnings of an aneurysm. A fitting death, slumped over her desk, surrounded by unfinished documents and discovered by Draco Malfoy, "Are you actually defending this?"

She would have to find a new partner. A new office, one where he wasn't constantly surrounding her, swimming on the edge of her peripheral vision. Maybe Dean Thomas would let her set up a current workplace in his records closet, he was always bragging about how it was big enough for him to take naps in during work —

"No." Malfoy said, somehow even more amused now, "I don't support it."

"Oh." Hermione said, very eloquently, "That's good."

"But," Malfoy continued, still distinctly unruffled while Hermione was very ruffled, "Most people will be unfazed. It's a Pure-Blood tradition. My parents have always planned to arrange a marriage contract.” Malfoy shrugged, “It’s not absolutely unheard of.”

“Well," Hermione said, out of breath from all the pacing she was doing, "Your parents are terrible.”

“Of course.” Malfoy said, like it was obvious. “They would never allow me the opportunity to sully the Malfoy name. Producing the correct heir is the only thing I’ll ever be good at.”

Hermione frowned. “Hearing about your family isn’t good for our working relationship. It makes me feel bad for you.”

“We can’t have that.” Malfoy said.

“No,” she agreed with a sigh, “we can’t have that.”

“So, tell me Granger. What is your plan?” His grin became less self indulgent, more fake. “You’ll have to marry someone. It'll undoubtably be the event of the season — have a fiancé you’ve been hiding from me?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Do you think I could hide anything from you?”

Malfoy knew when she changed the scent of her shampoo, when she switched up her coffee order — he even knew if she was sleeping less than usual. It was impossibly annoying to be around someone so observant, someone so intent on cataloguing her every move.

"If I had a secret fiancé, which I don't, I'm confident that you're competent enough to have sniffed him out by now."

Malfoy responding grin was slow and syrupy. "You think I'm competent?"

“Piss off, Malfoy.”

“Is he shorter than me? Is that it? Didn’t want to introduce us because you knew he’d feel bad?”

“You’re taller than everyone.” Hermione said, annoyed, again, “You would obviously be taller than my imaginary fiancé. You’re like an angelic giraffe.”

“You think I’m angelic?”

“No.”

"Two compliments on top of each other, are you feeling alright, Granger?"

"Shut up."

At 2:20, Hermione began to clean her side of the office, desperate for an excuse not to talk to Malfoy.

At 2:22, Harry slammed through her door, completely demolishing the (very little) progress Hermione had made in cleaning up her side of the office.

“I’ll marry you.” Harry said, slightly out of breath, like he’d sprinted all the way to her office, “Do you think we can kiss without making a face? We’ll have to practice.”

“I’m not marrying you.” Hermione said from the floor behind her desk, “You are engaged to Theo.” She was laying on her back with a book covering her face, feeling rightfully sorry for herself.

“Theo won’t mind.” Harry said in the voice he reserved for whenever he wanted people to listen to him (i am harry potter! and i did not spill mustard on the couch! you have to believe me, i saved the world!) “It will be quick. I can get us rings before the day is over.”

"No." Hermione said, still on the floor, "I've gone along with enough of your stupid ideas. This is too much."

Because, despite it all, Harry would do this. Without hesitation, blind loyalty and unwavering determination — Harry would marry her and be pleased with his choices. He was lovely, but at times, Harry could be a misguided idiot.

"This is where you draw the line?" Malfoy hummed, "Interesting to catch a glimpse into the inner workings of your mind."

Finally scrambling to her feet (after a few more seconds of wallowing) Hermione was horrified to find a familiar look on Harry's face — one that promised something stupid.

"I'll figure it out. " Harry said, with a shrug that reminded Hermione of their childhood (occidentally, the stress headache she was feeling also reminded her of their childhood). He pointed a stoic finger at her. "Don't make a face when I kiss you."

Then, he left.

“Theo wouldn’t mind,” Malfoy said in a helpful voice, “He’d probably marry you as well. Would it be Granger-Potter-Nott? Or Granger-Nott-Potter? Better figure that out soon. Potter seems eager to find those rings.”

Hermione threw a book at his head.

Malfoy caught it with ease, his stupid Quidditch hands.

“I have an idea,” Malfoy said after a moment.

Hermione ignored him. “There has to be a way out of this.” She was pacing again, sensible shoes kicked off to the corner (where she’d undoubtedly forget them) “I could write another motion? A longer one this time. With more quotes.”

“Marry me instead.”

Hermione stopped pacing. “Excuse me?”

“I’m your best option.”

“I have many options —

“Weasley already tricked someone into marrying him and Potter is engaged to my only friend.” He frowned, in a mocking sort of way. “Did I leave anyone out?”

“No.” Hermione said flatly. “You didn’t.”

“Alright then. Marry me.”

“Hah.” She said, “Hah. I take back everything I’ve ever said about you. Malfoy, you are funny.”

“I’m being serious.” He said, looking annoyed. Fantastic, they were both annoyed. Like they always were.

“We can get married before the law passes and then you can do what you do best.” Malfoy continued, like that was a totally normal thing to say.

“Which is?” Without her shoes, the height difference was unbearably noticeable. She had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. At some point he'd stopped being a willowy wraith of a person and began the unfortunate process of filling out.

He didn’t look away. “Destroy everyone’s expectations and free the downtrodden.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “What would you get out of this arrangement?”

Malfoy shrugged, too practiced to be nonchalant. “I’d be married to a war hero. It would do wonders for my reputation.”

“And you would be married to me.” Hermione said, beginning to feel like this was getting too real, “We both know that would never happen.”

“Never?”

“Never.” She agreed.

He wasn’t smiling that lazy smile from before, this one was different. Sharper. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“Besides,” Hermione continued on loudly, “you’re no gentleman. No need to pretend. I don’t need saving, I’ll figure this out myself.”

“You don’t need to.” Malfoy said, “I will help. I want to fuck over the Ministry for many reasons, but mainly because they declined your motion.”

He was on her side of the office now, leaning casually against her desk, inches away from where she stood. He was too pretty up close, like staring at the sun.

“It was very good.” Hermione breathed.

Malfoy nodded, almost too good at pretending to be sincere.

“I’m sure it was good. You touched it. Everything you touch is golden.”

“You truly want to help me?”

“I’ve only offered several times.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “All to fuck over the Ministry? No other reason?”

“Maybe I want you all to myself.”

Hermione's eye twitched.

"Don't tease me." She managed to hiss. "Not about this."

She saw when he realized, a flicker of excitement in his eyes — when he noticed her apparent misery at how completely and helplessly she was drawn to him.

"I'd never dream of it." Malfoy said warmly, "You could kill me with ease, only an idiot would be careless around you."

She thought of all the long nights they spent together, crammed in their tiny little office. How she looked forward to her day, if only to see his stupidly pointy face. How she tried to date, but couldn’t. Because it wasn’t right — her dates were too kind, too short.

Not him.

How, through everything, he was the first person she thought of in the morning, the person she thought of in the darkness of the night, when no one could see her wandering hands — the person she looked at for a challenge, for relief and support.

Despite her best attempts, Hermione Granger had fallen in love with Draco Malfoy and now, here he was, seeming to share in her suffering.

“We’d have to consummate the marriage.” She said, giving him one last out. “You’d have to see me naked.”

“I’m sure I’ll survive.”

“I’m very bossy,” she said, “and I work all the time.”

“Good thing we share an office.”

“I’m not easy to love.”

Malfoy scoffed. “It’s been easy enough for me.”

He was close enough to touch, so uncharacteristically open. Looking down at her with fondness she didn’t know he possessed.

“I’m selfish.” Malfoy warned, “Do not forget that. I will help you destroy this law and anything else you want. Burn it all down if you want to. But I won’t be letting you go. Not now, after I've gotten you."

“I suppose that’s fine.” Hermione said softly, watching as his hand moved to touch her face, warm against her skin. "It'll be bearable to be around you, I suppose."

As he held her face in his hands, Hermione watched as his grin transform into something different, something new — a smile she'd only seen glimpses of, one only for her. "I'll work very hard to make our marriage a tolerable one." He said.

"Good," Hermione breathed, stretching up to kiss him, to finally press her lips against his, "I can't wait."

Hermione was married at 3pm on a Tuesday.

It was a small ceremony.

Harry, although he'd never publicly admit it, was relieved.

Despite his best attempts, he would've made a face when Hermione had kissed him.

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ellieauthor · 1 year

Text

"I hear she got another one this morning," Blaise says, voice projected loudly enough for the whole Great Hall to hear.

It is now common knowledge that Hermione Granger has been receiving daily flowers for the entire month leading up to Valentine's day, and the whole school is dying to know who they're from.

"Weasley," is Pansy's guess.

"Too easy," Theo argues. "I bet it's Potter. Or that Macguire tosser. McDonald? Mc something."

"McLaggen," is Draco's surly response.

But Blaise has another theory.

"Draco, don't you know quite a bit about flowers?"

He does. They know he does.

They all do; it's a foundational topic of early pureblood education. And with a mother like Narcissa, Draco is even better informed than most.

"Draco," Pansy gasps. "You're blushing!"

And that's all it takes for the rumors to start.

Blaise sits back, smile smug and proud, watching it all happen

He knows the minute the theory reaches Granger.

They're sitting in potions, a class all eighth years share together. Lavender Brown whispers something to Hermione that has her looking toward the area of the classroom unofficially reserved for the Slytherins.

Her eyes linger on his friend a little longer than necessary. And over the next few days, her behavior becomes less combative.

Draco, for his part, panics.

"It's not me, Zabini!"

"Of course it's not," Blaise says, rolling his eyes. "It lacks any subtlety, and from what I've heard the arrangements.themselves are measley and plebian. Borderline pathetic."

"So then why--"

"It doesn't matter as long as she thinks it's you." Blaise works hard not to roll his eyes, but come on. For all his potions skill, the boy could be thick.

"But how does that--"

"You can figure the rest out for yourself, mate." Blaise pats Draco on the shoulder before leaving his befuddled friend to his own devices. He only has the capacity for so much charity.

Not that he's doing this entirely selflessly.

The pair have been circling each other like idiots for weeks, and he's bored of it.

This, though? He finds far less boring.

To Draco's credit, he takes over just fine from there. He begins to pay the witch more blatant attention, meets her at night in the library.

She says yes when he asks her to dinner on the fourteenth, and Blaise knows it's only a matter of time before they become official.

The morning after the date, Draco floats into the Slytherin common, looking sleepy but satisfied.

"Can't thank you enough," he says, grinning like an absolute madman.

"It was nothing," Blaise says, and he means it.

Draco struts away with a confidence Blaise hasn't seen since their fourth year. He's almost to the top of the stairs when he stops, like he's suddenly remembered something. "Where'd you get the flowers from, anyways?"

At that, Blaise's usual smirk shifts to a diabolical smile.

"I didn't. I just started the rumors."

Draco looks perplexed. "But then who--"

"Someone having a much worse Valentine's day than you, I'd bet."

Elsewhere in the castle, a drunk and inconsolably angry redhead shoves his last bouquet of roses into a burning fireplace, muttering something about a "stupid bloody ferret."

#dhr #dhr drabble #dramione drabble #dramione ficlet #dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione #blaise zabini #ellieauthor

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