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coffeestainsandcashmere · 4 years

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‘All that’s best of dark and bright’ - a Draco x Hermione x Theo story - Chapter Six

Summary:

Hermione's birthday starts inauspiciously and ends... well. You'll see for yourself how it ends.

Notes:

Warnings for some PTSD and nightmares right off the bat. And finally here’s that ‘Mature’ tag too, right at the end of the chapter :)

Note: does the Wizarding world have birthday cards??? They do in this story, and like wizardy photographs, they move. If I goofed up and this isn’t a thing, please just accept it as another AU element :). There’s also a reference to an old British store chain in there, so kudos to you if you spot it.

I hope this chapter is ok - I’ve actually got a retinal migraine at the moment and have lost the sight in most of my central field of vision, so editing it one last time was a bit… hit and miss, let’s say. Anyway, thank you for your feedback on previous chapters too! Looking forward to your reactions to this one for sure…

Chapter One here: Tumblr | Ao3

Chapter Two here: Tumblr | Ao3

Chapter Three here: Tumblr | Ao3

Chapter Four here: Tumblr | Ao3

Chapter Five here: Tumblr | Ao3

Hermione woke in the early hours of her birthday with a scream.

The snatchers had her. Hands all over her, couldn’t break free, thrashing, struggling, writhing.

Sweating, she twisted and sheared their grasp away from her arm for a second and ran, lungs burning, legs trembling. One fall over an unseen root and that would be it. The war could be lost if they got caught now.

He would win.

And Harry would die. Oh God, they couldn’t lose. Not now. Not after everything.

The forest was closing in.

She had only seconds to think, to disguise Harry, to keep them from snatching him and knowing who he was. “I’m sorry,” she hissed as the stinging jinx took hold of his face and it began to swell.

More hands on her. Unrelenting this time. There was no escape.

Darkness.

Rushing darkness of forced apparition.

Yew hedges and an iron gate that thrummed with wards and enchantments.

Bellatrix’s awful, gleeful face.

Then pain.

Fear and pain unending.

Silver eyes staring, wide and horrified.

Screaming.

Screaming, screaming, screaming…

Jerking awake violently, with sweat running down between her breasts and tracking down her torso, hair a damp, tangled nest, and throat raw, she thanked all her magical forebears, starting with Merlin and Morgana, that she’d had the sense the previous night to cast a silencing enchantment again between the four posts of her bed. The rest of the dorm slept on. Ginny was even snoring.

Her heart was still pounding and she looked over at the window, the dawn still a good hour away at least.

The faint grey light filtering through the leaded window beside her bed reminded her of Draco’s eyes from her dream.

He’d been there that night and had been forced to watch his own aunt carve that word into her forearm after god-knows-how-long of cruciatus torture. Had he always looked as revolted by it all as he had just then in her dream? She’d had it so many times now that she could no longer distinguish memory from nightmare. Her skin itched and burned but she refused to look down and stare at the word ‘mudblood’ engraved into her skin.

“Happy birthday,” she muttered under her breath before getting out of bed and inhaling deeply. The air in the room was cold, and goosebumps prickled along her skin as she reached for her Gryffindor red dressing-gown that had been a present from her parents on a birthday a few years ago.

She stood and went to the window, opening the casement which squeaked like an affronted gnome, but still no one stirred or complained. Damp, autumn air flooded in, sweeping around her and cooling the sweat on the exposed skin of her collarbones til she shivered, but it slowly helped to calm her heartbeat. Her eyes roved along the lines of the mountains that surrounded the school. “Nineteen,” she mused with a sigh. “Nineteen years old, and my parents no longer have any idea that I’ve ever existed.”

Kingsley had said there was still a chance that the memory-altering spell could be reversed, but it had been so powerful that it risked destroying their minds altogether, and she hadn’t had the courage to give him the okay to try. They were happy and safe as Wendell and Monica Wilkins, and would probably stay that way forever thanks to the strength of the charm she’d used. She couldn’t regret protecting her parents, but the necessity of it brought tears to her eyes every time.

She didn’t feel nineteen. What was it supposed to feel like anyway? Besides, what normal nineteen year old was still at Hogwarts? Most of the rest of her year was out there, beyond those mountains. Seamus was in Auror training with Harry, and Dean was apparently working in the Goblin Liaison Office after his surprising and enduring friendship with Griphook, while a number of others were in a similar line of work, patching up holes where Death Eaters had exposed their world to the muggles, or training with magical creatures, or working in bars, or travelling the world — Blaise Zabini was rumoured to be in Portugal working with the authorities there, and she’d even heard a rumour that he was engaged to Pansy Parkinson, though she found it hard to believe. Blaise had always seemed the type not to be interested in romantic attachments. Perhaps it was a pureblood thing?

With an enormous sigh, she abandoned thoughts of purebloods, and turned away from the window to find a small parcel sitting by the little fireplace in their dorm, with two envelopes beside it. She frowned and stepped closer, her heart leaping for joy when she recognised both Harry’s minuscule writing and Ron’s untidy scribble.

Sitting cross legged by the empty hearth, she ripped Harry’s envelope open first and discovered, to her delight, a muggle birthday card with a hideously gaudy badge on it, sporting a cartoon birthday cake. She carefully unpinned it from the front and set it to one side to attach to the drapes of her four-poster. Inside it read:

‘Dear Hermione,

I’m sorry I haven’t written to you! I’ve been so busy and I can’t really tell you about any of it yet. I loved your letters though, and I’m not surprised you’re so busy. Please remember to stop every now and again, won’t you? Hope you have a great day full of surprises!

Love,

Harry x’

She narrowed her eyes at the ‘full of surprises’ bit, hoping that he hadn’t told Ginny to do something very Weasley-esque and embarrassing, and then opened Ron’s card. Their friendship had been somewhat strained since they broke up, and Fred’s death had understandably brought out his more morose side in the last few months, but she was pleased that he’d remembered. His had a silly cartoon of a dragon lighting a birthday cupcake with a gout of flame that incinerated the whole thing before the dragon looked out at the viewer and shrugged before the image looped around again. She was honestly just relieved that it wasn’t some kind of new exploding card from the joke shop.

‘Dear Mione’ it began. She squinted and peered at the next lines. Gods, he could have worked for the Ministry in their Department of Mysteries, encrypting messages for them.

‘Dear Mione,

Happy Birthday! Sorry I haven’t come to see you yet but hopefully it won’t be too long. Promise not to bring any skiving snack-boxes for you…

Love,

Ron’

In the quiet of the four-person dorm, with only the soft whisper of three sleepers and the whisper of the wind outside, Hermione smiled. They might have been terrible at keeping in touch, but her friends did still care after all. It wasn’t that she’d doubted them necessarily, but the silence had still stung.

She picked up the parcel next and unwrapped a small box of sherbet lemons from Harry with a label bearing his tiny handwriting that said: ‘Got these for you from Woolworths pick ‘n’ mix. Thought you’d like them. H x’.

Tears filled her eyes and the bright yellow sweets swam before her. She thought back to her very muggle childhood - a fact she shared with Harry, though hers had been a little happier on the domestic front - and also thought of Dumbledore, who had famously had a great penchant for the sour boiled sweets. Despite having dentists for parents, she had always loved these, but even now as she guiltily unwrapped one, she felt like a child sneakily opening a present on Christmas Eve instead of Christmas Day. It tasted amazing, and it brought back so many memories.

Hours later, turning another sweet over between her tongue and teeth, she dressed and headed down to breakfast without waking Ginny or the other two seventh years and breakfasted alone at the Gryffindor table well before the post owls arrived. She didn’t fancy advertising that it was her birthday, drawing attention to the fact that she was older than almost any other student ever had been in the entire history of Hogwarts. Probably. That was one she’d have to look up in Hogwarts: A History when she got back upstairs.

Thoughts of the book, and whereabouts she could look in the various chapters for such a reference, evaporated as she left the hall after breakfast, and spotted Theo and Draco eating together at one end of the table. Ahead of the Slytherin tryouts that morning, Draco was dressed in his quidditch gear, and - damn him - and he looked… he looked regal. His white hair gleamed, the soft wave to it making him look much less harsh now, and as he and Theo shared a conversation, he even managed a brief laugh that lit up his silver eyes and lifted the tiredness from his sharp features. He’d grown into that pinched, pointy face, she realised, and he now looked strikingly handsome when he smiled.

While she continued to stare at them, Theo held up a grape and Draco rolled his eyes but let Theo pop it into his mouth.

Hermione walked right into the stone doorway of the entrance arch and rebounded with a soft grunt, face burning and mind reeling. Burning with shame, she scuttled across the entrance hall and had just set foot to the first tread of the Great Staircase when a familiar voice echoed off the stonework.

“Granger!”

She froze and then turned around. Malfoy was standing in the archway to the Great Hall, and the full sight of him in his quidditch kit nearly knocked her breathless. How had she not appreciated just how tall he’d grown or how good he looked in that rich, dark Slytherin green before? It complemented the silver of his hair and the paleness of his skin so perfectly that she almost forgot that he’d spoken and called her name.

“Yes?” she croaked.

He swallowed and crossed towards her, holding two small envelopes in his left hand. He proffered them to her between index and middle fingers, and swallowed again. “Happy Birthday, Granger,” he said in a soft, slightly husky voice.

She stared at them envelopes stupidly for a second and then gingerly took them from him. “They’re not howlers, are they?” she asked, aiming for a light tone.

He shook his head and a section of his silver hair fell into his eyes before he brushed it back. “No, Granger. No tricks. Just two birthday cards.”

“Thank you, Malfoy,” she said, oddly choked. She saw Theo’s writing on the front of the top one, and assumed the other was from Malfoy. “That’s… That’s really sweet of you.”

He rolled his eyes and turned away, shaking his head. “I’ll pass on your thanks to Theo,” was all he said as he retreated. She watched him go, eyeing his narrow hips and long legs, and she gulped. That was the closest she’d come to getting an apology from him, and she could recognise it for the white flag it was. He was clearly trying.

She smiled and turned them over in her hand.

Her fingers trembled as she broke the green wax seal, blank and un-stamped, she noted, and opened the first one then and there in the liminal entrance hall. It might have felt somehow symbolic if she’d paused to give it any thought.

Draco’s card bore a moving image of a set of floor-to-ceiling library shelves, a few of the books sliding in and out at irregular intervals, as if drawn out for examination by invisible fingers, and a ginger kneazel’s tail flickered into view in the bottom corner every so often. He’d noticed Crookshanks then? Not only that, but he’d noticed Crookshanks from years ago and had remembered him? Surely it wasn’t a coincidence. Malfoy never did anything without a purpose. His message inside was simple, but it was his handwriting that made her eyebrows rise.

It was terrible; almost illegible. Even worse than Ron’s.

For some reason she’d always expected that he would have the curling, looping handwriting of a prince or something, but this was a barely-discernible chicken scratch, and was even a little smudged over his signature.

‘Hermione,

I hope today brings you every joy you deserve.

Yours,

Draco Malfoy’

She re-read it three times before she really saw it though, still shocked at receiving a birthday card from Draco Malfoy of all people. Another white flag.

Taking a deep breath and deciding not to ponder it too long, lest she run into the danger of over thinking again, she moved to Theo’s which was written in a tidier and much more ornate hand. The script on this envelope was a perfect, fluid, graceful, English roundhand, like the kind she’d only seen on old parchment documents, and the ink was, surprisingly, purple. She recalled the smudges on his fingers from the other day and wondered if that was the Slytherin’s favourite colour.

Theo’s card was also book-themed, but it bore an image of a battered old copy of ‘Advanced Potion Making’ beside a softly-steaming pewter cauldron. She smiled, reminded instantly of their last potions session and all the revelations it had carried with it, but she set that aside for the time being and read his message. She could almost hear him saying it, and she laughed aloud as she read it.

‘To the most perfect of prefectorial and potions partners,

I hope you have a wonderful day and that, should you wish it, your friends get you very, very drunk up in Gryffindor tower. Whatever you do, you deserve to have fun, Hermione, and I hope today of all days is full of it.

Love,

Theo.’

The difference between the two was striking. Malfoy’s was reserved and his writing seemed almost shy and awkward, whereas Theo’s reflected his usual, outgoing, charming self. Plus, he’d signed it ‘love’, though again, she tried not to read too much into it.

She glanced up to find that both of them were looking at her from their distant seats at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. Theo grinned and waved, but Malfoy just continued to stare at her with his expression carefully veiled.

“Thank you,” she mouthed at them and Theo bowed his head rather theatrically.

Before she could decide to go over them at strike up a conversation, Ginny bounded down the grand staircase behind her and barrelled into her, along with half the Gryffindor team at her heels, all buoyed up with excitement about tryouts, and the head girl tackle-hugged her almost into a headlock. “Happy birthday!” she screeched, setting Hermione’s ears ringing and the few students in the hall staring. “Did the owls come already then?” she asked when she saw the cards in her hand.

She shook her head but didn’t elaborate. Ginny was too excited about the tryouts anyway. “Please come and watch us later,” she said. “Just for a bit? Oh, and I’ve got Harry’s and Ron’s cards for you! I put them out by the fireplace in our dorm…”

“I found them already,” she smiled. “Thank you. But why didn’t they just owl them straight to me?”

“They wanted to make sure they got here on time so they sent them together a few days ago with Harry’s new eagle owl. She’s huge! Anyway, please come?” she wheedled. “Pleasepleaseplease?”

Taking a deep breath, she glanced over at Theo and Malfoy, who were apparently just finishing up with their breakfast. Gone was the tender grape-sharing, to be replaced by a muttered conversation. Her brain rather unhelpfully supplied that she might get to see Malfoy in his uniform again if she showed up.

“Fine,” she grunted through gritted teeth. “I’ll come for a bit. But literally just twenty minutes or so, ok?”

“Yes!” Ginny yelled, fist pumping and then hugging her again. “Thank you! I’ll have to tell Ron.”

“Why?”

“He nearly bet me five galleons that you wouldn’t go to a quidditch practice on your birthday.”

“Nearly?” she asked archly. “Well, I’d hate to be predictable…”

“I wouldn’t let him lay a bet on what you did on your birthday,” she said and Hermione blessed her silently with her eyes. Someone yelled Ginny’s name from the Gryffindor table and she nodded. “I’m gonna go grab something to eat. We’re heading out early to watch the Slytherins first and see what the competition is, but we start at one thirty, ok?”

Hermione showed up at the quidditch pitch at quarter past one and found that a few Slytherins were still there, though clearly most of their tryouts had finished. Those who remained were flying for fun now. A few of them were still running drills under the watchful eye of the Slytherin captain, and somewhere on the absolute opposite side of the stands she could see a few Slytherin supporters, but mostly, the place was oddly deserted and quiet.

The weather had also turned absolutely bloody miserable, with a fine sheet of mizzle wafting down around them, drenching everything and reducing visibility to almost nothing. She huddled deeper into her cloak and cursed, hair expanding steadily with the damp conditions. She really, really hated quidditch.

“How in Godric’s name did I let myself get talked into this?” she growled to herself after just ten minutes of sitting in the freezing stands, wishing she at least had a book to distract her from her chattering teeth. “Ginny, I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m freezing my arse off. I’m going back.”

“What? You haven’t even seen us fly!” Ginny laughed, though clearly not upset in the slightest. “I’m surprised you even showed up without Ron and Harry to cheer at. Have fun in the library. Until your party that is…” Ginny added ominously. “Don’t forget. I’ve got a surprise for you. Don’t worry; you’ll love it,” she added when Hermione balked visibly. “Fucking shit,” Ginny hissed, her gaze sliding past Hermione to the pitch behind. “Malfoy is really bloody good. I hate him, but look at that… It’s… It’s poetry, Hermione. Bloody poetry.”

She turned and watched as a blur that was presumably Malfoy did an eye-wateringly fast swan-dive, rocketing straight out of the clouds right down to barely half an inch from the turf below, before barrel rolling upwards with the grace of a swallow to avoid a bludger. He pulled out of the roll and peeled right, drifting in a lazy arc and coming to a halt in front of the stands on the far side. He seemed to be holding a conversation with someone for a moment or two before he peeled away into a lazy backwards dive and then looped up into the air to begin soaring around the far end. The fluidity of his movements was mesmeric, and even Hermione had to admit that he was an absolute pleasure to watch.

And then the wind blew raindrops down her neck and she shivered.

“Nope,” she said. “I don’t care how beautiful he looks on a broomstick, I’m going in. See you later, Ginny. Good luck getting a better team than Slytherin!” and she disappeared before she lost her fingers and toes to frostbite on her nineteenth birthday.

It took her well over an hour to warm up by the fire in the Gryffindor common room, but just when she’d contemplated going to the prefects’ bathroom to take a long soak to drive the residual chill from her bones, she found that she was actually nearly thawed out. It was only the lingering stiffness in her muscles after being locked in a tight ball in the armchair that remained. Deciding that a spot of exercise would probably finish the job, she grabbed her notebook and quill, and made her way towards the library.

Predictably, it was almost completely deserted at nearly three in the afternoon on a Saturday, and she wove her way through to her favourite corner in the Charms section, settling her books down and thinking about what to start first. She had one Transfiguration essay that was admittedly optional, and one Ancient Studies translation to crack on with for Monday. Deciding to tackle that first, given that it would probably take her half an hour at most, she moved with familiar ease through the shelves until she drew closer to the restricted section. The book of runic verb tables was not held there, but the Ancient Studies section was visited so infrequently that it was tucked away near the restricted section all the same.

As she approached, on the point of rounding the final corner of a bookshelf and entering the small, square alcove created by two bookshelves set perpendicular to the stone wall, she heard a gasp and a deep, guttural grunt, and froze.

It wouldn’t be the first time she’d stumbled on someone doing something illicit in the library, but there was something about the timbre of that voice that made her pause and her heart race. Usually, people had the grace to conceal themselves or put up a befuddlement charm to distract other library users until they were done, but she was not so lucky this time.

“Oh fuck,” she heard a breathy, male voice snarl and her eyes widened.

It was Theodore Nott. She was sure of it.

As she slid behind the bookcase that separated her from that small, secluded alcove, she peered through the books on the shelf and inhaled sharply in surprise, immediately holding her breath in case she’d given herself away. She needn’t have worried - the two engaged in something a tad racier than a quickly-stolen kiss or two were in no danger of hearing her one tiny gasp of surprise.

Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott were pressed up against the far side of the bookshelves, mercifully on the other side of the square alcove from her hiding spot, and Theo had his jeans round his ankles, black boxer-briefs yanked down as well, while Draco had his own dark trousers undone and merely hanging around his narrow hips. Malfoy was wearing a long-sleeved, smart-looking white shirt which was now rumpled and untucked, and he had his left hand between the two of them, hidden from sight for the moment by his own body.

She might have though it jarring to see them in more casual clothes, were it not for the incredibly distracting activity in which they were currently and rather shockingly engaged.

Theo looked… debauched.

His curly hair was mussed up and thoroughly ruffled, his cheeks were flushed to the point that his freckles had vanished completely, and his wine-dark Henley had a distinctly fist-shaped crumple at the shoulder. His thin lips were also puffy and red, kiss-swollen and still wet. Meanwhile, he barely seemed to be keeping himself upright, with one hand gripping the stone wall nearby, his other clutched on the bookshelf behind him, and his dark blue eyes kept fluttering closed.

Hermione stared, utterly transfixed.

Draco had an enormous hickey on the side of his neck, angrily standing out in stark relief against the white of his skin.

She couldn’t have looked away from them if a dragon had entered the library and begun to breathe fire amongst the books. They looked so beautiful together, chests heaving, muscles straining and clenching in their exposed biceps and necks, the tendons pulled taut and straining as they ground against each other, breathless and gasping.

“Fuck, Draco, fuck...” Theo snarled as Malfoy worked them closer and closer. The slick sounds of their efforts began to fill the small corner of the library and it was all she could focus on. They’d obviously been in such a rush that they’d neglected to throw up a concealment charm, or they thought that no one would be there on a weekend. Or… Or they liked the risk.

“Fuck!” Theo’s knees buckled as he yelped, and Draco’s right hand flew to cover Theo’s mouth.

As his long fingers wrapped around Theo’s face, little finger just below Theo’s nose, she caught the silver flash of his signet ring. The sight of it pressed against Theo’s skin, the bone-pale colour of Draco’s body contrasting with the warmer tones of the taller boy, made her suddenly wet and hot all over. They turned a little bit as Draco applied a little pressure to Theo’s jaw with that hand and tipped Theo’s head to one side so that he could mouth and kiss at his exposed neck for a moment, and she saw that he had both of their cocks in one hand. His pace was quick and brutal, perhaps trying to finish them both off as rapidly as possible and send them tumbling over the edge of orgasm before they were discovered.

The sight of Draco Malfoy’s hand around both his and Theo’s cocks together nearly undid her and she had to bite her lips together to keep from making a noise. Not once had she ever fantasised about anything like this. Even though she’d entertained the brief idea that the two boys could be together, it had never encompassed a sight like this, with Theo unravelling in a series of muffled groans and stifled gasps while Malfoy jerked him off with relentless focus.

She knew she shouldn’t be watching, but before she could turn away and flee, Theo’s muffled words dissolved into a long, deep, guttural groan, his blue eyes rolling shut, as Malfoy paused and swiped a thumb over the weeping tip of his cock and Theo’s knees caved again.

“Quiet,” Malfoy snarled, tightening his grip and causing Theo to throw his head back with another broken moan. He seemed incapable of keeping quiet, and he thunked the back of his head on the bookshelf but barely seemed to notice. Malfoy’s hand had been dislodged from his mouth by the movement, fingertips dragging obscenely at Theo’s lips for a second, and now his long fingers lay splayed and tense over his exposed throat, middle and ring fingers on either side of his sharp Adam’s apple. “This is a library, Theo,” he purred. “Quiet.”

“Fuck… No one… comes to this… to this section anyway,” he panted, thrusting his hips weakly into Malfoy’s hand. “Oh fuck, there, like that. I’m so close. I’m so fucking close, Draco. Well… no one except…” he paused before managing to open his eyes and grinning wickedly. “Granger…”

“Fuck! Don’t mention Granger now!” Malfoy practically yowled, fingers tightening in an involuntary spasm around Theo’s neck, and Hermione tried not to be hurt. Presumably though if they were there, doing this with each other, she wouldn’t have been of any interest to them anyway.

Or… not…?

Malfoy came almost immediately with a choked-off growl, as if the full force of his sudden orgasm took him by surprise, and he came hard. His head bowed forwards to rest against Theo’s collarbone as his back heaved and his hips jerked. He spilled into his hand and all over Theo’s hard, slick cock as well.

Theo crashed into his release only a second or two later, one hand clinging to Malfoy’s shoulder, the other on the wall beside him, and then they both slouched against the bookshelves looking dazed and weak for a moment or two before Malfoy straightened and scourgified them both clean with a wandless wave of his hand. Talented and beautiful. Not many people would have had the presence of mind to do that kind of magic in the aftershocks of an orgasm like that.

Hermione was breathless, still staring at them with eyes wide and heart pounding. She’d soaked through and ruined her underwear, she was sure of it.

“Fuck, Draco,” Theo hissed, tucking himself back into his trousers and leaning shakily against the bookshelf. “I know it’s my fault, but we’ve got to stop doing this… It’s… It’s not fair…”

Draco didn’t speak, and other than the vibrant, blotchy flush that crept up his white neck and onto his cheeks, there was no outward sign that he’d just come his brains out in the library, with Hermione Granger’s name fresh on his lips.

___

To be continued.

If you enjoyed, please reblog and share! I’m new to the fandom on here and appreciate all the help I can get!

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writing masterlist | Ao3

#dramione #draco malfoy x hermione granger #draco x hermione #draco x theodore #draco x theo #draco malfoy x theodore nott x hermione granger #draco x theo x hermione #draco x hermione x theo #harry potter fanfic #hp fanfic

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