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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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zelenyikitart · 7 days

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Double date

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gloivy · 8 months

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don’t tell me it’s over

dramione drabble | fake relationship | angst with a happy ending

“So, that’s it?” she said it casually, even though it felt like her insides were being torn apart. “Ron apologised, Astoria wants you back. I suppose that means our arrangement is—”

His sharp bark of laughter cut her off. “Don’t tell me it’s over. Don’t you dare tell me that.”

She had never allowed him to get away with speaking to her in that piercing tone before, had never backed down without a fight.

But… there was something in the warning that struck through his demand, in the fractured crack that punctuated the word ‘over’, that made her pause.

And so instead of fighting, instead of warring with him over the one thing that they had ever agreed on—the naïve fake relationship, the understanding that it would end when their respective gains were met—instead of bringing up all of their familiar vitriol, she took a damning leap, and tried instead to accept the small weakness he had offered.

Not to use against him, as perhaps a younger version of herself might.

But instead, to meet with her own, a fragility just as mighty as the one that lingered in the air from his outburst.

So, she continued, as though he had never interrupted her at all, though his plea rung in her ears with each weak word she uttered.

“I suppose that means our arrangement is over.”

His sharp exhale was so anguished, so pained, that the sharpness of it felt like a knife’s edge.

His gaze, she realised, had softened so considerably as of late, and she had grown so accustomed to it’s gentleness that now the stark contrast of his cold stare cut straight through her heart. Such coldness, where once there was warmth.

If she didn’t know better, didn’t feel it in her bones, she would think that he was just as unfeeling as his mask portrayed. But she could see it, the minuscule crack in his facade, and the agony that bled through it.

And so, she continued, quickly, before he took his facade and left her here, alone, with the consequences of her cowardly heart.

“But I—” she choked on her own words, the vulnerability scaring her. She swallowed down the fear, and spoke before she let it consume her, “I don’t want us to be over.”

Shock passed over his features so quickly she almost missed it, the widening of his eyes, his slackened jaw.

And then, in the next moment, his mask was firmly back in place. The crack in his facade hidden once more by cool indifference.

“Why?” he asked, as though he hadn’t been the one begging her not to tell him it was over just moments ago.

Though she supposed this was just his nature. So afraid of being helpless, of putting his heart out on a limb and having it used against him. Such was his upbringing, his love for his family only bringing upon him despair.

But she would not use such weakness against him.

So, she answered his question.

“Because,” she whispered, as sometimes such delicate truth could only be uttered in delicate tone, “I can no longer imagine a future without you in it.”

His mask fell, exposing the agony of the heart he carried.

Two quick strides and he was before her, hand raised as though he meant to caress her. But it fell down by his side again before she could feel his skin against hers.

There was a war waging behind his irises, a war against the man he once was and the man he had become.

She could only hope that the man she loved won the battle.

For several long seconds he said nothing.

But she could tell the exact moment the war ended.

The moment his hand raised for a second time and she felt him caress her cheek. The moment his eyes softened in the way they only ever did for her. The moment his lips parted, not with words, but with a shaky exhale, as though he’d held his breath through their entire encounter.

And then, he whispered, in his own delicate truth, “I do not have a future without you in it.”

Her heart swooped in euphoric glee, and she could not help the smile that stretched her lips so wide it almost hurt.

He laughed as he stared at her, and she knew she probably looked half-mad. But she didn’t care.

Raising to her tip-toes, she kissed him.

Things between them were not over. Far from it. This was only just their beginning.

#drabble #dramione drabble #dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione #hermione x draco #dhr #dramione fanfic #dhr fic #dhr fanfic #dramione fanfiction

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elliebyrrdwrites · 19 days

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Dramione And Theo

I should be resting. But, here is another blurb instead.

Draco’s finger slid along the rim of the porcelain mug. He watched the slight tilt of it atop the plate, the dark liquid inside sloshed against the side, threatening to spill over.

He considered the offer laid out in front of him. There were little details given as he listened to the calm, sure voice of his long time friend and partner. It was tempting, of course. What would be more exhilarating than managing to take what didn’t belong to him?

He looped his index finger into the fine porcelain handle and lifted the mug to his lips. He hesitated to take a sip, leveled Theo Nott with a bored look.

“What’s the target?”

Theo Nott ran a hand down the front of his shirt. The perfectly starched and pressed shirt needing no adjustment. But Theo was avoiding Draco’s stare.

“A vault.”

“What is inside of the vault, Theo?”

“Four hundred thousand galleons.”

Draco’s lips pulled down. A successful job consisted of more than just one man. The more men, the smaller the cut.

“What else is in the vault?” Draco took a sip of his espresso.

Theo fidgeted, his nose crinkled in annoyance.

Draco smirked and set his mug back down. “It must be something special.” He tore a corner of his croissant and tossed it into his mouth.

“Look, it’s not what you think.” Theo sat back in his seat, running his hands through his mop of brown wavy hair.

Draco swallowed his bite. “You don’t know what I think.” But the corners of his mouth continued to pull as he fought a smile. “What else is in the vault, Theo?”

He watched his friend grind his teeth, his jaw working with the movement.

Draco took another piece of croissant and chewed merrily as he sat back and waited for his friend to reply.

“There is a myth, Draco.” Theo finally said, sitting up straight, he leaned his elbow onto the table . “About a necklace that is said to be made entirely of blue diamonds. Not only is it the single most expensive piece of jewelry in all of the world, wizards and muggles included, but it is rumored to be charmed.”

“Charmed?” Draco was grinning, tearing another piece of his croissant off.

“Yes, Draco. Charmed. And do you know what it is charmed to do?”

Draco’s hand rubbed at his upper lip, in an attempt to hide the amusement. “No, Theo. What is this necklace charmed to do?”

“It is charmed to attract luck.”

“There are potions for that,” Draco interjected.

“And to attract all of the wearers inner most desires to come true.”

“Hmm.” Draco popped the last piece of his croissant into his mouth.

“All while turning the wearer into the most beautiful witch or wizard in the room.”

“That sounds a bit lofty, doesn’t it?” Draco stood, while chugging the last of his espresso. He pulled a few bills from his pocket and tossed it onto the table.

“Draco,” Theo’s voice had a hint of desperation.

“Who’s the target, Theo?”

Theo exhaled. It was long and sufferable. “Briar Nolan Flamel.”

Draco sat back in his seat. He rubbed at his eyebrow and counted his breaths before he cleared his throat and signaled the waitress over.

Theo remained quiet, watching Draco, as the waitress swayed over to them. She smiled, asked if he needed refill. Draco refused and ordered a slice of Tiramasu.

When the waitress left, he leveled Theo with a look. A look lacking the previous humor he had originally found.

“B. Nolan Flamel.” He stretched his neck, tilting it side to side.

“Yes.” Theo bit the tip of his thumb.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Give me a good reason, Theo.”

They paused as the waitress placed the plate of desert down.

Draco picked up his fork. “Give me a good reason or I walk, now.” He began eating.

“Because you are bored. Your job at the Ministry is trivial. It doesn’t even make you happy. We grew up groomed to rule the world, under the guise that we were superior. And all to what? To watch our fathers get locked behind bars? After reigning terror on the world?” Theo sniffed. “No, if I go to prison, it will be because I was doing something I wanted to do. Something thrilling. Knowing that I bested the most powerful wizard in the entire world.”

Draco set his fork down and swiped the bit of cream on the corner of his lip. “Did you practice this speech?”

Theo shrugged. “A bit.”

“The take is big.” His finger tapped on the edge of his fork, rhythmically. “We’re going to need a team.”

Theo nodded. “Obviously.”

“You have anyone in mind?”

“I do.”

Draco noticed then, that Theo looked uncomfortable again. He busied himself at straightening his tie, buttoning his blazer, only to unbutton it again.

“Who is it, Theo?”

His friend sighed and placed his palm on the table. He opened his mouth and shook his head, closing it again.

“Theo,” He raised the fork to his mouth, and took a bite.

“They are brilliant. A curse breaker and a whizz with technology.”

Chewing on his bite, Draco glared at his friend.

Theo sat back, his shoulder slumping slightly as he relaxed. “Granger.”

Draco choked as he swallowed the bite, coughing and pounding his chest.

“As in Hermione Granger?”

“Yes. She’s incredibly talented. Sneaky, too.”

Draco started to laugh. The kind of laugh he hadn’t had in ages. The sort of laugh that caused the sides of his belly to ache.

“Hermione Holier than Thou Gryffindor herself?” He wiped at his eyes, dabbing at the tears. “The Golden Girl is going to help us break into the vault and steal from the most powerful Wizard?”

“You forgot the slimiest wizard in the world.” Theo grinned.

“You think she would agree to this, as what? Some sort of retribution against a wizard who what? Uses house Elves?”

“He also deals in human trafficking.”

Draco’s eyes widened in surprise. “How do you know?”

Theo’s smile was disgustingly jubilant. “Granger has been tracking him for months.”

“What does she actually do for a living?” Draco had heard she worked for the DMLE and once the Department of Mysteries but had abruptly quit the Ministry altogether last spring.

“She’s a sort of Independent Contractor.” He shrugged and sat up straight. “She and I have worked on a few co-ops together, as it were.”

The fork in his hand long forgotten was suddenly tossed onto the table. “If I agree, you’re telling me that you can one hundred percent assure me that she wouldn’t turn us in? That she is, indeed, fully intending on robbing a powerful Wizard.”

“Oh, most definitely.”

“How?” Draco sat back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. “How can you be so sure?”

Theo’s brown eyes flashed with the kind of giddiness he hadn’t seen in the man since he received his first real broomstick when they were ten. “Because,” Theo drawled and picked up Draco’s fork. “It was her idea.”

#dramione #my writing #dramione fanfic #fanfic #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione #hermione x draco #harry potter #theo nott #idiots in love #dramione drabbles #dramione drabble

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freckledfern · 10 months

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They strode towards each other, and as they met Crookshanks took the opportunity to stretch his paws out in front of him before rearing up on his hind legs. Both front paws touched Draco’s thigh as Draco leaned over looking down at Crookshanks with his hands still in his pockets.

“Pspsps.” The sound slipped through Draco’s lips softly as the faintest smile begged at the corners of his mouth.

Find the rest here

Since falling into the world of dramione, Draco having a friendship with Crookshanks has utterly captured my heart to the point I needed there to be more art of the two of them. A big shout out to @artwith-david for not only this amazing piece but for fueling the fire that made me write this little drabble.

#draco malfoy #crookshanks #dramione #DHr #dramione drabble

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ellieauthor · 1 year

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"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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extremewritersblock · 1 year

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Drabble - “just pretend to be my date”

“Just pretend to be my date.”

Hermione continued her insistent poking on Draco’s arm. He was annoyingly uninterested in her dilemma.

“I don’t bring dates to these sort of occasions, Granger. It would completely ruin the “readily available for sex” persona I’ve worked so hard to build.”

Hermione watched McLaggen set his sights on her. He waved in recognition and began his way over to where they stood at the bar.

She gripped Malfoy’s arm.

“Please! Please, Malfoy, I’m desperate.”

His body suddenly turned to face hers, and the unexpected loss of his body mass under her hands caused her to stumble into him. He caught her before she could inflict any bodily harm upon herself - or their glasses of champagne.

She looked up into his piercing grey eyes and was, for a moment, quite lost in them, until she remembered that she really needed this man to pretend to be in love with her. At least for as long as it took for Cormac McLaggen to call off his pursuit of her and find a new target.

Every Ministry party was the same. She showed up, dateless, spent the night bouncing around different groups of coworkers in her effort to avoid Cormac and ended the night alone because she had been too busy hiding out to flirt with anyone.

She realized she’d been resting in Malfoy’s arms for too long. She adjusted herself upright and felt his hands leave warm imprints where they’d held her body.

“So? Will you do it?” She gave her most grotesquely pleading pout that she could muster.

“Not until you tell me what’s in it for me, Granger?” He eyed her curiously, taking another swig of his drink. His eyes sparkled menacingly.

Hermione peaked over his shoulder to see she’d gained a few minutes, thanks to Luna - bless her, Hermione owed her big time - who seemed to have stopped McLaggen for a chat. She had a Quibbler in her hands. Hermione strained to read the headline: Tinder: A Muggle Solution to Dating Woes

This was a good sign. Luna could talk about the curiosity of Muggle inventions to a wall. This bought her at least a few more minutes.

Now, how could she bribe Malfoy to help her?

“I’ll - I’ll file your paperwork in the office for an entire month.”

“I’m all caught up on my filing, unlike yourself.”

She did have an embarrassingly large backlog of papers to be sorted.

“Fine - I’ll... I’ll quit suggesting better ways you could have completed your work assignments.”

“I do hate it when you do that..”

“So we have a deal?”

His lips curved into a smirk and he closed the distance between them again, as if he had a secret to tell that only she could hear.

“When I wanted to know what would be in this for me, I wasn’t exactly thinking about - Ministry related things.”

This confused her. “Then when do you need help? I’m not very handy, but I can bake a mean pie - ”

Malfoy maintained his closeness. “I was thinking more along the lines of...tonight.”

“Oh Merlin, he’s back on the move. Great, okay. I’ll help you tonight.”

“I’m not sure you’re understanding me, Granger.” She felt a sudden chill as Malfoy reached a finger under her chin, gentle but assertive. She could’ve easily pulled away, but she couldn’t, for the life of her, remember how to move her head.

Her breathing hitched. His eyes, though still sparkling, had turned dangerous. She couldn’t look away.

“Tonight. My apartment.”

McLaggen was meters away.

“Okay,” she said, her voice quivered, betraying her uncertainty of what she was agreeing to. She decided not to analyze the fact that spending a night with Malfoy was currently the better option than having a conversation with Cormac.

A much better choice. It wasn’t even a contest.

Malfoy used his grasp on her chin to bring her face closer to his.

“Anything I ask from you - do you agree?”

“Hermione!” McLaggen called. Only a single person stood between him and Hermione’s spot at the bar.

“Malfoy, please!”

Malfoy dropped his hand from her chin and snaked his arm around the silk fabric clinging to her waist. It was quite a thin barrier between her skin and the strength of his arm. The feeling was strangely intimate.

He turned them so that they faced outward, toward their approaching guest.

“Hey! Glad I found you - that Loony chick caught me up in a very weird conversation about Muggle dating practices. My date ditched me tonight, so I thought I’d come find you and buy you a drink.”

McLaggen looked from Malfoy to Hermione, then down to her waist where, to any outsider, it would look as though she’d already been claimed.

“She already has a drink. But I’ll take another one, if you’re offering.” Draco’s stare was focused, as if challenging McLaggen to even attempt taking what was rightfully his. Draco tightened his grasp on her hip, causing her dress to slide up daringly.

“Ah, well. Looks like I’m too late. Perhaps another time, Hermione?”

“Actually, I think her drinks are sorted for the next - I dunno - ten of these parties. Possibly more, if she’s feeling extra helpful tonight.”

Malfoy pulled away from her fingers, which had just pinched him as hard as they could.

McLaggen first looked confused, then as though he wanted to say something - perhaps to ask Hermione what her thoughts were on his offer - but to her relief, he decided that this encounter was no longer worth his time, and sauntered away. He made sure to take the exit furthest away from Luna Lovegood.

Hermione expected to feel again the removal of Malfoy’s arm from around her, but he only pulled her closer. Using his free hand, he passed her her glass of champagne.

“So - tonight?” she asked, inquisitive to what he had in store for her.

“You have no idea what you’ve signed up for, Granger.”

#dramione #dramione drabble #draco x hermione #Draco Malfoy #Hermione Granger #luna lovegood #cormac mclaggen #hermione x draco #Dramione fic #dramione fanfic #pretend date #bribery #drabble #harry potter

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violetxso · 1 year

Text

Draco always protects Hermione

It seemed to Draco that there was a sneer in the eyes opposite, that was quickly replaced by innocence and confusion when he brought him to a serious conversation.

"You can't lay a hand on my wife," Malfoy said firmly, looking earnestly into the eyes opposite. "Hit me if you're angry, but don't ever touch her like that again, do you understand?"

“Draco?”

Hermione went into the living room, but Draco did not take his eyes off the face opposite, where there was nothing but sincere interest and fun. No remorse, no sadness. His lips stretched into a satisfied smile when Hermione came into his field of vision.

“What are you doing here? You took him away so quickly I got scared.”

"I just wanted to tell him not to hit you anymore."

Malfoy glanced at Hermione, who was smiling not at him, noting that the red mark on her cheek, as well as the smeared mascara, had disappeared.

"He's only two, Draco. It happens to children.”

She bent down as Scorpius ran towards her as fast as he could, hanging onto her hip. When their son was in Hermione's arms and raised his hand, Draco was afraid he would want to hit her again, but he just hugged her neck, pressing his slobbery mouth to her cheek.

“I told him to beat me instead of you.”

Hermione laughed as she sat down next to him on the sofa.

“Thank you for protecting me from this little villain.”

Scorpius mumbled something, throwing himself into Draco's arms like an attacking snake, and Hermione grinned again.

"He definitely has this penchant for beating people up from you, Granger.”

#dramione #dramione drabble #draco malfoy #hermione granger #scorpius malfoy

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sodamnradd · 2 months

Text

Hermione emerged from Harry’s closet wearing nothing but his blazer.

“You know he’s never going to buy that.”

She unclasped her clip and ruffled her hair in the mirror, pinched her cheeks, slapped them until they pinked. Bit her lips. Pinched her thighs so they would bruise.

“Quick.” She pushed her hair to the side and tilted her head. “Give me a hickey.”

“No.” Harry reeled back.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s a very big deal and I’m not—”

“Harry James Potter, put your mouth on my neck right now.”

“If Malfoy actually believes I did that to you, he’s going to…” he trailed off, because he didn’t know how Malfoy was going to react. But it would not end with a pat on the back and a ‘congratulations’. “I work with the guy.”

“Traitor.” Hermione rumpled the bedsheets.

“He’s not coming into my room.”

She ignored him.

“Just tell him you want to get back together.”

She hurled a pillow at his chest.

The sound of the fireplace made them freeze.

“Stop it, Harry!” Hermione started to giggle, making a soft, sultry moan Harry never wanted to hear from her mouth again.

“Potter?” Footsteps echoed down the hallway. Years of pure-blood etiquette made Malfoy one of the most well-behaved men Harry knew, so it was extremely out of character when he threw the door open, uninvited.

Malfoy came face to face with Hermione.

She swept her curls from her eyes and plastered on a freakishly convincing look of surprise.

Malfoy’s cold eyes darted from Hermione, semi-dressed. To Harry, who, luckily, was fully clothed and only slightly flushed from embarrassment.

He asked tightly, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she said at the same time Harry replied, “She’s trying to make you jealous.”

She glowered at him.

But Harry was looking at Malfoy. Noting the betrayal in his eyes. “She thinks you slept with someone. That’s why she’s been acting like this. I swear I didn’t touch her.”

“Harry!” Hermione cried.

Malfoy seemed torn, but he knew Harry well, and Hermione even better. The devastation on his face morphed into concern. “Granger?”

Hermione looked away, shoulders bunching up, arms crossed.

“Talk to me,” he pleaded.

She shot him a deadly look, and Harry was relieved not to be on the receiving end of it for once.

“I saw you go into that senator’s suite. Her hands were on you. Grabbing your tie, dragging you inside. She shut the door… You…” Her voice caught. “Came back hours later. Showered. Tried to… touch me."

Realising the truth, Harry opened his mouth to correct her assumptions, but Malfoy beat him to it. “You were gone the next morning because you thought—”

“I knew.”

“You thought,” he corrected her. “I slept with someone else and crawled back to you afterwards?”

She shrugged. “Older women have a certain allure. I saw how she looked at you.” She clutched Harry’s blazer, as if realizing how ridiculous she looked.

But Malfoy didn’t seem to find her ridiculous at all. His gaze raked down her chest, lingered on the swell of her breasts, her bare legs. “You have no idea how you… That you believed I would ever… When you’re…”

Harry had never witnessed Malfoy tongue-tied before.

“I know what I saw.” Hermione stepped back as Malfoy stepped forward.

“That woman was my assignment,” Harry interjected, even though they weren’t supposed to talk about open cases. But Hermione needed answers and Malfoy was useless. “I asked Malfoy to pretend he was spending the night with her as a safety precaution. He didn’t want to do it. But I was desperate.”

“I occasionally grant Potter favours. Though now I will expect many in return.” He shot Harry a telling look. “For a bloody long time.” Great.

Malfoy approached Hermione again, and this time she let him. He touched her cheek. So gentle, Harry wondered if Malfoy had been Polyjuiced. “There’s no one else, Granger. Ever.”

Hermione shut her eyes. Leaned into his palm. Malfoy lifted her chin. Stroked her hair. Murmured something against her lips. She kissed him. His hand trailed up her thigh. Beneath the blazer.

Harry shut the door behind him, making a mental note to ask Kreacher to change the sheets later and set the blazer on fire. He grimaced when he heard the bed squeak.

The first of many favors he now owed Draco sodding Malfoy.

(732 words, photo prompt from twitter)

#dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione #hermione x draco #dhr #dramione drabble #sodamnrad #sodamnraddrabbles #harry potter #harry pov

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mkmgwrites · 1 year

Text

“Hermione!” Harry shouted, rushing through the frantic members of the DMLE as they clustered outside her office.

“What the hell is going on?!” She cried, flinching as Harry gathered her into a crushing hug.

“Hermione, thank Merlin” he heaved, “Malfoy barricaded himself into your office. We heard screaming. I thought- we thought he was hurting you. That-“

Hermione pulled back from her shaken friend, looking over his shoulder as the gathered DMLE members began ramming her warded door.

“Malfoy?” She asked, “Malfoy wouldn’t- he, there must be a mistake. Who else is in there?” She stammered.

Harry swallowed, “We don’t know. Don’t worry we will- wait! Hermione!” He shouted, but she was already crossing the room, pushing Aurors aside.

“Get out of my way!” She snapped, casting a flurry of spells and complex unlocking charms before bursting into her office.

The witch stood dumbly at the threshold, mouth ajar as she took in the scene in front of her.

“Took your fucking time,” Malfoy snapped, looking utterly disheveled for perhaps the first time in his life. “Do you have any idea how difficult it was to get this thing up there?”

Hermione took in her ruined office, the knocked over desk, the scattered papers, the splintered bookcase, before finally drawing her eyes to the ceiling.

A large pig, hovered precariously in the air, frantically kicking and screeching at its unprecedented flight.

“I don’t know why the fuck you wanted this Granger but here’s your flying pig,” he gestured proudly, “I told you I was serious about this.”

Hermione stared slacked jawed at the absolutely idiotic man in front of her, ignoring the cluster of Aurors gathering behind her to witness the spectacle.

This was not what she meant.

“Well?” He asked, “I got it.”

“I- you-“ she spluttered, speechless at the gesture.

Malfoy straightened his robes as he stepped towards her, grey eyes flashing silver, “Will you go out with me now?”

Hermione glanced back at Harry’s dumbfounded expression and the wide eyes of the entirety of the DMLE before flicking back to the hovering, screeching pig.

“I- yes,” she murmured, meeting his gaze. “Yes I think I will.”

#dramione fanfiction #dramione #hermione x draco #draco x hermione #ao3 fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #dramione fanfic #draco fanfiction #hermione fanfiction #dramione drabble #draco malfoy #hermione granger #text

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chronophobique · 6 months

Text

Cursed!Draco as a Triwizard Tournament champion

— 1135 words

content warning: drowning (no one dies I promise)

Draco knew, since the moment he thought he saw a green flash hit him during his heated encounter with that one student from Ravenclaw—whose name he’d never cared to learn—on the train, that something was wrong with him.

He could feel it every time he climbed stairs, when he found himself panting like an old man as if he’d never got used to climbing them in the past seven years.

But he wasn’t going to pay a visit to Madam Pomfrey just now and ruin his chances at finally proving himself.

Not when the Cup had chosen him. Not another Chosen one or a brave heart, like it had in the past. Him. The only student in this school who had been an Azkaban convict.

It hadn’t enchanted him, at first. The opposite, in fact. The war had made him a target—quite rightly. Now certainly wasn’t the time to be in the spotlight.

But it was his opportunity to show them he wasn’t the boy who had blindly listened and obeyed to stronger than him anymore. And he wasn’t going to miss it just because of some pain in his chest.

“Ten galleons that someone will take care of his case before he has time to step a foot into that arena,” he heard a Hogwarts student not so discreetly tell a Durmstrang student as he passed them in the corridor. It was the day before the First Task.

The dark-haired girl met his gaze, then, considering her answer, when a familiar bushy head interrupted her train of thoughts, a finger pointed at her interlocutor’s face. “We don’t bet on the champions’ lives, Darwin. Twenty points from Gryffindor.”

“You can’t do that,” Darwin exclaimed indignantly. “We’re from the same house!”

“All the more reason to teach you a lesson,” Granger snapped back, eyebrows drawn severely as she walked away, barely giving him a glance.

As with his trial in which she had testified on his behalf, it wasn’t the first time she put her nose in his business to get him out of an uncomfortable situation, and all it did was make him more confused. Angry. Ashamed.

The third time was during the Second Task, when he realised with horror and ever more incomprehension that she was the one thing that had been stolen from him.

It was already a surprise that he hadn’t drown in the first few minutes of the task, given that he had been denied access to the library due to his past and exposition to the Dark Arts and therefore had been unable to find a way to breathe underwater, but seeing her floating amongst the hostile merpeople for him to save really was the cherry on the cake.

As his lungs painfully rejected the freshwater of the lake, he hesitated. None of this made sense. What the fuck did it mean, Granger being stolen from him? What would it mean to others?

Still, he’d made it this far. Somehow. And before his brain could even process it, he was grabbing her by the waist and pulling her to the surface as if his four members now had a mind of their own.

Or at least, he tried, because as soon as he started kicking the water it suddenly felt like claws were closing around his heart, dragging him down.

Down.

Overcome by panic, he kicked harder, but his efforts were in vain. In just a few minutes, he lost his hold on Granger, breathed what he was convinced to be his last, and let the depths of the lake swallow him.

He regained consciousness with a start, coughing up all the water that had seeped into his lungs.

“Mr Malfoy, are you feeling alright?”

“Obviously not,” he rasped, lying on his side, going completely still when he noticed Pomfrey wasn’t the only witch present in the tent.

As soaked as he was, a few curls already sticking up on either side of her face, Granger was looking straight ahead. Like the last place on Earth she wanted to be right now was on this stool but she had no choice.

Looking down, he quickly realised why; her hand was laced with his.

Appalled, he tried to wrench it out of her grasp, but she held on strongly.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Madam Pomfrey warned, a close eye on his vitals.

“Why not?” he asked through his teeth, goosebumps all over his skin.

“Because you’ve been cursed, Mr Malfoy.” She let that sink in, probably unaware that it was a daily occurrence for him. “And whoever hit you with it didn’t want you dead, but miserable for the rest of your life.”

That didn’t explain why Granger was holding his bloody hand. Merlin. He’d never had anyone hold his hand like this before.

“Well, clearly it failed. As you can see, I’m alive and don’t feel particularly worse than usual. Now tell her to let go of me,“ he groaned.

“The thing is you shouldn’t be alive. And you have Miss Granger to thank for that.”

“I didn’t do anything—” the latter said, still not looking at him.

“Voluntarily, no, but it doesn’t change the fact that you did.”

He saw her stifle a laugh and wondered if he was imagining the pinker tint to her cheeks.

“Care to explain?”

“You were hit by an Octopus curse,” Pomfrey revealed, point blank, lips pursed. “A rare curse which forced your body to undergo certain changes in a very short amount of time, such as growing two extra hearts.”

Rendered speechless, Draco could only listen, though the warmth of Granger’s skin against his own was irritably distracting.

“Two hearts you’ve already lost,” she continued in a graver tone. “As one was apparently stopped with the Killing Curse and another deprived of oxygen for too long.”

“One heart left, lucky me,” he muttered sarcastically after a few seconds, sitting up and locking eyes with Granger. “And what should I be thanking you for, hm?”

Eyes as dark as he’d ever seen them, the witch looked like she wished he’d never resurfaced.

“You remaining heart, it seems, only beats because of me, Malfoy.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. What an insufferable show-off. “Yes, I figured,” he snapped. “What I meant was—”

“Because,” she cut him off, squeezing his hand so hard he feared for a second his bones would break. “I make it flutter every time our eyes meet,” she spat, her voice full of reproach. “And makes it beat faster when I touch you. I keep you alive.”

“In simple terms, she has your life between her hands,” Pomfrey added as if she fucking needed to. “So I suggest you listen carefully to what I have to say.”

#dramione #draco x hermione #hermione x draco #dramione drabble #dhr fandom #draco malfoy #hermione granger #harry potter #dramione fanfic #dramione fanfiction #dhr ficlet #chronophobiquedrabbles

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pixydustworld · 1 year

Text

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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amillieaway · 1 year

Text

prompt: that hurts

They break up in the middle of dinner.

Maybe at a restaurant Granger would have avoided a scene, but because they were staying in, yet again, and because Draco insisted on it, she takes full liberties in unleashing hell upon him.

At one point plastic cutlery and teriyaki-stained wooden chopsticks are airborne. Later, when Draco undresses, he finds a rice noodle in the buttonhole of his blazer. And for the grand finale, shards of his great-aunt’s vase become a mosaic on his foyer floor, once valued at some fifteen thousand galleons. Now, worthless.

She’ll be back, he thinks, quite confidently. He experienced a similar rockiness when he dated Pansy. They broke up and got back together at least every other fortnight.

A day goes by.

Three, five, ten—and nothing.

Fine, Draco relents, he’ll write to her.

It’s a fine letter. Bottomless black squid ink, proof-read four times, eloquently expressing that he misses her, that he’s sorry they haven’t been together in public places and, if she’s willing to hear him out, he’ll take her out for a proper meal. She can even tip-off the Daily Prophet if it pleases her.

She doesn’t reply.

Draco grows irritable. He begins to resent her a little.

Once, before the war destroyed his reputation, any girl would have been thrilled Draco Malfoy was giving her the time of day. He was good-looking. He was wealthy. His family was connected to top politicians and moguls in the Wizarding World. He was Slytherin’s Seeker. She would have been lucky to date him.

So what, they haven't been out in public after a couple months of dating? That gives her no right to give him the cold shoulder and act like they never knew one another.

To hell with her.

Days pass, and Draco is gutted. Wrecked.

Her absence hurts and hurts and hurts.

He catches himself staring out into space at odd moments. Over a bowl of soggy cereal, trying to remember what her hair smelled like. Peach? Pear? Wiping the same spot on the window for five minutes, knowing it’s Sunday, and somewhere on the other side of town, she must be cleaning her flat too.

He caves and writes to her once more.

This time, with more apologetic and less arrogant undertones.

Radio silence.

He knows she’s receiving them because he prodded gossip out of Blaise who lives with Pansy who bumped into Potter at a party, and Potter drunkenly blurted out that ‘your douchy friend Malfoy’s still trying to win Hermione back. She needs to forget that wanker, if you ask me.’

Well nobody asked you, Potter, thank you very much.

And so Draco spirals a little.

He sends fifty-three bouquets to her office. One for each day they were together. When he hears nothing, he follows it up with fifty-three cauldron cakes. When that proves no bueno, he hires a mariachi band to follow her around the Ministry, singing cheery love ballads. He’s given them express instructions to perform until she visits him.

That should prove he’s more than okay with everyone knowing they’re together. He doesn’t care. All he needs is Granger back. Because-because—

“I miss you,” he says when she Apparates into his office precisely thirty-seven minutes after he unleashed the mariachi band upon her, holding out longer than he expected.

She’s red in the face, shoulders bunched up to her ears, eyes blazing, pointing a finger at his chest. “You are the most infuriating, conceited, over-the-top…”

“I miss you,” he repeats, speaking over her as he rounds the desk to meet her on the opposite side.

“…PRAT I have ever had the misfortune…”

“I miss you so much.” He has her shoulders, forcing them down a little, pressing his thumbs right where he knows she needs it most, watching delightfully as they liquify even as she’s going on.

“…encountering and when I’m done with someone, Draco, I am DONE…”

“I need you back, Hermione.” He draws his palms down her arms, grabbing her hands and pinning them to his chest when she tries to swat him away.

“…and I refuse to date anybody who’s even slightly ashamed of where I come from…”

“I love everything about you.”

And that about does it.

Granger stands there, mouth agape, no more screaming. She drops her gaze to her hands, splayed open on his chest, realising, perhaps, how close they are. Feeling, maybe, how her presence alone turns Draco on. Seeing, hopefully, the authenticity in his gaze.

“You… you…”

“I love you,” he says, prepared. “I’m sorry you had to leave before I realised it.”

“Harry says I need to forget you.” She’s staring at his lips now, making no effort to step away.

“Potter’s a wanker.”

She frowns, but doesn’t seem angry. Her eyes grow distant, lost in thought.

He waits.

When her focus resurfaces, she's watching his lips again, heat creeping into her irises. “Kiss me on two conditions.”

“One?” he asks, heart racing.

“We tell everybody.”

Her breath is warm on his skin. Deliciously close. “And two?”

“You never send anything to my work ever again.”

It’s the sweetest deal he’s ever made.

#dramione #dramione drabble #amillieaway #draco x hermione #draco malfoy #hermione granger

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