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“That’s it, I’m done.”
Padma looked up from her coffee, brow raised, at the outburst Hermione gave as she huffed into the chair across from her.
“Date didn’t go well?”
The meticulous way Hermione placed down her coffee told Padma that she was in for a show. So she merely sat back and watched.
“I had forgotten a report that was due this morning. Did I remember it at any point this week?” She doesn’t pause, so Padma merely sipped at the tea in her hand. “Not until I awoke in a panic yesterday morning. I spent all day compiling what I needed. Thank Merlin that Malfoy was able to help.”
Padma made a noise in the back of her throat. Hermione leveled her finger at her. “Don’t start. He’s a good friend and colleague.”
Snorting as she put down her tea, Padma rose a brow. “If that’s what you want to tell yourself.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’m not going there this morning. Besides, this whole story is to tell you why I’m never dating again.”
Her friend waved a hand as if to say go on .
“Even with Malfoy’s help, I didn’t leave the office until well after 6.”
“Wasn’t your date at 6?”
“ Yes .”
“Oof. This is lining up to be good.”
“They were gracious about it, until I got a phone call from Matilde to tell me that I had filed it wrong. So I had to go back to the office to file it properly, which Malfoy helped with.”
“Yeah, that should have waited.”
Hermione ran a hand across her face in frustration. “Not if I wanted the legislation to pass this season with the Wizengamot. Doesn’t matter, because then I got a call from Molly.”
“Oh, no.”
This was becoming a train wreck quickly, even Padma could see it.
“Oh, yes.” She dropped her head in defeat. “She never calls me, so I answered it, thinking it was an emergency.”
“It wasn’t?”
“It wasn’t. No, she decided it was time to remind me that she has many eligible sons, though she thinks Ron and I are still the best fit.” She eyes Padma meaningfully. “When are you going to tell her you two are together?”
“When I know I won’t be getting Floo calls like that at work.”
Hermione laughed. “Good luck on that.”
Padma chuckled as well. “Fair enough. So what happened next?”
“Ellie was kind at first, but when she left, she stopped to tell me that I was making work too much of a priority, and that no one would take a relationship seriously with me while I did so.”
Padma raised a brow again. “Work, huh? Not the man who happens to be your colleague?”
She rolled her eyes. “Malfoy had nothing to do with any of the things that went wrong.”
“No, but he was there to help you with your project, and still there when you had to go re-file your proposal.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Tell me you didn’t linger a little longer to chat with him, I dare you.”
Hermione couldn’t fight the blush that rose on her cheeks. Padma only sat back, smiling. Clearing her throat, Hermione tried again.
“Speaking of Malfoy, I’m surprised he’s not here.” She glanced about, trying to spot a head of white-blond hair. “He’s not one to miss tea in the morning.”
“I’m not surprised. Haven’t you seen the Prophet this morning?”
She shook her head. “Crooks got into his bag of treats last night and binged on them. I woke up to a flat full of cat vomit.” Padma grimaced, but Hermione continued. “Didn’t have time to look at it yet. Why?”
Padma reached in her bag. “Sounds like you’ve had a rough start to two days.” Then she slid her copy of the Prophet across the table. “But this might brighten it.”
Splashed across the front page: Malfoy and Greengrass Call it Quits . Below, a cycling image of Astoria Greengrass exiting one of the high class restaurants, tears in her eyes. In the window, Malfoy sat at the table, chin in fist, brow furrowed, as he stared at a ring he held up in front of him. While Astoria repeats her exit, Draco is nearly still, the only thing signaling the repeat is the way his jaw clenches slightly and the extra pull between his brow.
The tears in Astoria’s eyes, the pain in Draco’s expression—a deep chasm opened in her chest. She didn’t know Astoria as well, but Draco, she counted a friend, even despite Padma’s insistence that there was more between them. And she knew her friend was hurting.
“I don’t see where this will make my day any better?” She frowned at the woman across from her, and for the first time, Padma’s smile faltered. “All I see is two people hurting—one of which is my friend and coworker.”
Pulling the paper back, she let the smiles disappear all together. “You’re right, Hermione.I guess I just figured with your crush on Malfoy…”
“Feelings or not, he’s my friend first. He’s going to be hurting.”
When Hermione entered the office, she found Malfoy already at work behind his desk across from her. He glanced up, a cup of tea paused at his lips, and hummed his hello around its rim.
She greeted him cautiously, but he seemed nonplussed, fixated on little else than his large workload as she set herself up at her desk.
Hermione cleared her throat tentatively. “Missed you this morning for tea.”
A wry smile pulled at his lips, as he gestured to the massive pile of parchment next to him with his hand. “I wanted to get a head start.”
“Ah.” She settled into the chair. On top of her pile of letters and paperwork she had owled to herself that morning was her copy of the Prophet . The loop continually taunted her to make some sort of remark to him. But when she looked up, his attention was fully on his work, and she made the determination: if he wanted to talk about it, she would listen. Otherwise, it was his life on broadcast, she wasn’t going to become another commentator.
Hermione set her focus on her work.
“You coming to the Leaky?” She slipped on her coat, raising a brow at the pile on his desk that seemed to have grown despite his consistent attempts at reducing it.
He ran a hand through his hair before responding, still not looking up. “I’m not sure if I can.”
She leaned over, putting a hand over the paperwork he was reviewing, a sly look on her face. “It can wait for Monday. Come to the Leaky.” The smile dimmed. “Something tells me you could use it.”
For a long moment, they met each other’s looks with equal levels of stubbornness, but he broke first.
“Fine.” Malfoy huffed as he put down the quill and pulled himself from his chair. “But I think you’ll regret my company.”
“Highly doubtful.”
As he slipped the coat over his own shoulders he passed a glance at her, sour and lost, but it was gone in a blink. “Evidently you didn’t see today’s paper.”
She checked her weather predictor as he joined her at the door: rain. Hermione pulled up her hood.
“I did. But I figured you’d talk if you wanted to.” A brow raises. “And that you could use the drink.”
They walked side by side to the lift. “You’re not wrong there.”
But it’s the end of that conversation, and they are quickly lulled into the subject of the legislation they were working on. Thusly distracted, when they stepped out of the Ministry, they were unaware of the pressing crowd.
He offered her an elbow. “Side along?”
But when she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm like she had so many times before, she saw a flash go off. Before a word could be spoken, the crowd pressed into him.
Her thoughts whirled of a picture of the two of them, taken out of context—as Skeeter had often been known to do—would be splashed on the cover of the next day’s newspaper. Grateful of her hood hiding her recognizable hair, she ducked away from him, hoping he understood why she did it. As she slipped through the crowd, she heard the questions that were thrown towards him.
—comment on what happened?
—an affair? Was it her or—
—you say that you’re once more an eligible bachelor?
—doing to recover from the shock of—
Her heart ached for him, and as soon as she cleared the crowd, she turned back to him, meeting his eye. His face was blank, but she spotted the flash of hurt before he shoved it behind his walls. Meet me there. She mouthed the words, begging him to understand her. A crisp nod was the extent of his response, and she apparated on the spot.
She landed at the entrance for the Leaky with a stumble. Sucking in a tremulous breath, she tried to settle the unease that was fighting to surface since she had looked back at him.
With a sigh of defeat, she instead turned and leaned on the wall, and waited.
And waited.
The pit in her stomach grew. She was a Gryffindor goddamit, why had she run?
Yes, it was supposedly to try and help, but had it really done that? Or had she left her friend—someone she cared a lot more for than she cared to acknowledge—when he needed help.
Fifteen minutes, thirty minutes, three-quarters of an hour passed. She was about to give up and just go home, unwilling to be with their friends knowing she had failed her closest one so thoroughly, when a pop sounded near her, and she was struck by a familiar scent. Amber and…
She raised her head, brow furrowed, to see Malfoy standing stiffly in front of her, but his eyes locked on a point somewhere to the left and up.
“Malfoy—“
An attempt of a small smile tried to pull at his lips, his body falling into a tight facsimile of his usual bravado. “It’s nothing I haven’t handled before. Glad you escaped.”
She pulled herself from the wall. His eyes were no longer far away but they still wouldn’t meet hers. So she placed a hand on his forearm. It tensed under her touch.
“Draco, I didn’t—“ Hermione shook her head, trying to put into words what her mind had been racing with while waiting. He didn’t move or change his line of sight, but he hadn’t pulled away either. “I thought it might be worse for you, if you were seen with me on your arm after what had happened the other day.” A hard swallow, a sour taste in her mouth. “I wasn’t trying to leave you there, I just thought it would be worse for me to stay.”
She saw the moment it made impact, her words. In a blink, the structure that held him up cut him loose, and when he ran his hand through his hair, the final piece of his facade disappeared.
“Circe, you’re right.” It was quiet, but a confirmation nonetheless, and the breathless quality gave him an almost hysterical edge. He reached out blindly for the nearby bench across from where she stood, collapsing into it. For a long moment, he only sat, head in hands, before scrubbing his palms across his face. Red rimmed eyes looked up at her over the tips of his fingers, finally meeting her gaze, and he gestured for the spot beside him.
Hermione didn’t hesitate—but she did give him plenty of space. Curling his fingers into a fist in front of his mouth, he remained silent for a time.
“Did you know that Astoria and I were betrothed at two and four?”
She shook her head, but didn’t dare speak. It was his turn.
“Betrothals are such a distant thing as a child. They’ll happen eventually . Eventually likes to sneak up on people.” He interrupted himself with a bitter chuckle. “We were friendly, even as teenagers. But I never expected anything resembling love—not at first, at any rate. By the time we reached adulthood, I knew we could be friends. Maybe even something resembling partners. Something that would eventually morph into a relationship like my parents.”
He took up staring at his spot on the wall once more.
“That was all I wanted. I knew it was always possible that I would meet someone, get to know someone, that, in another lifetime, would have been someone I could love. And I knew Tori just wasn’t that for me. I love her, but in the way I think you love Ginny.”
Hermione nodded. In the few times she had seen them together, there had been a sense of familiarity and the comfort that comes from that. Even then, she had wondered if that was enough for him— for the man that had read nearly as much as she had, had as many opinions, and challenged hers every step.
“I..” he stopped for a moment, and dropped his hands to hang limply. “It was the best scenario I could envision for myself in this universe: bound to someone I could actually tolerate and even enjoy the company of, without the baggage of Dark Marks and childhood mistakes.”
Draco shrugged helplessly. “So I proposed. She said yes. I thought she felt the same way. I made a fatal error, though. Something I didn’t account for.” His eyes grew distant as he fell silent.
Gently, Hermione nudged him with her shoulder. “What?”
She watched as he came back to himself. “She fell in love with me.”
Hermione felt her brow knit. “Wouldn’t that be a good thing?”
“If I had felt the same, it would have been perfect. But it didn’t take long for her to catch on that my feelings were barely more than platonic.” He paused to swallow hard before continuing. “That I had fallen in love with someone I had deemed impossible to have.”
Her stomach plummeted. While she couldn’t help the small swell of hope that maybe she had a chance with him when the news broke, it all now disappeared like a trapdoor under her feet. So she shoved it down, stuffed it into a corner, smothered it with a blanket of concern for her good friend and delayed her breakdown for a later time.
When he spoke again, it was hoarse. “I hadn’t even realized she had fallen in love. Not until she ended our engagement.”
“Because you loved someone in a way that you didn’t love her?”
He shook his head violently. “Because she deserved to love someone who loved her back.”
Hermione forced a smile to her lips. “She does.” A hand on his shoulder. “And so do you.”
He met her eyes for a long moment, searching as if for something there. With a little laugh, he shook away the intensity. “You’re right, Granger, as always.”
Her jaw ached, but she smiled through it. “Not always.”
Malfoy stood up, laughing. He was nearly back: she could see it in the way his shoulders set, the dimple in his smile, the sparkle in his eye. “Modesty does not become you, Granger.” He side eyed her with a grin. “It’s a new tactic and I don’t think it works for you.”
An extended hand and a head cocked to the entrance of the Leaky. “Shall we make our fashionably late appearance?”
She accepted his hand, indulging herself in the luxury of the crook of his elbow under her tucked hand. It’s only as they entered that she realized that he had gone home and changed. His dark coat covered the cream colored thick cable knit sweater that looked soft enough to burrow into.
The very same one she saw him shed within an hour of drinking at the Leaky. The very same she saw still across his chair an hour after he left. The very same that she folded up carefully and cautiously placed a stasis charm on.
Hermione had always intended to return his jumper. She really had.
Two months out, however, it still sat at the small table near her door.
And when practically all of her personal jumpers were cast into a pile on her bed for multiple crimes, the off-white of Draco’s jumper caught her eye. The sparkle of the stasis charm called her like a siren.
Carefully, she plucked it from its spot beside the door. With a wave of her hand, the stasis charm was cancelled and the scent she so readily recognized as his washed over her. Amber and vetiver and…
She shook her head. It was self-imposed torture, what she had been doing to herself. He had remained exactly as he was before; a friend, a colleague, an equal. Meanwhile, she had allowed every action of kindness to fuel this growing thing in her chest, fed by Padma and Ginny’s constant comments, because now, of course , Ginny was involved.
Maybe that was why she had felt this attraction to his sweater as she was scheduled to meet up with Ginny that morning for brunch.
The hesitant consideration of his sweater, of the past two months of ‘status- fucking -quo’, and the consideration of a decidedly Muggle breakfast stop spurred her Gryffindor courage—along with a side of what’s a little more masochism when I work with the man? and she slipped the sweater over her head without any more thought.
“Oh. Oh. ” Yes, this was definitely a Malfoy-quality jumper.
The first thing she noticed was how soft it nestled against her skin, unexpectedly lighter than it had appeared. The second was her recognition of just how tall, how broad shouldered, Malfoy was. Its hem sat at her midthigh, its v-neck loose enough that it hung slightly askew, peeking her little black bra strap. If left alone, her hands almost completely disappeared in the sleeves. She pushed them up to her elbows.
But it was the third thing that sent her reeling: she was surrounded by his scent. Unsure if it was a cologne, or aftershave, or some beautiful combination, she lifted the collar of the jumper to her nose and inhaled.
It was memories of late nights and goodbye hugs at the Leaky on Fridays, of long hours hunched over the same parchment, of early morning coffee in the crowded Ministry cafe.
Oh, this was going to be absolute hell today, but she could dress for that occasion: a permanent flush on her cheeks, black leggings and flat boots, and a pretty little black number under it all, as if he was going to see it. If she was going to live in the delusion, she’s going to thrive there. His jumper is the one bright spot in her ensemble, and she thinks it’s fitting since he’s the black hole she’s been circling.
“Hot damn . Hermione, you look practically fuckable.” Ginny ran a discerning eye over Hermione’s outfit and narrowed her eyes. “Or freshly fucked . I’m not quite sure which.”
Hermione laughed. “The former, hopefully. No luck on the latter.”
A ginger brow rose. “That sweater looks expensive enough for a Malfoy to own it.”
Her lingering blush deepened, and Hermione looked away. “I may have… borrowed it.”
“And he let you ?” The scoff that escaped her was almost gleeful. “And you say he’s not interested.”
Hermione mumbled. “He didn’t ‘ let me’ persay.”
Her friend wiggled in her chair. “You stole it?”
“No! It’s—remember the night after he and Astoria broke up?”
Ginny leaned forward onto her elbows, eyes sparkling. She nodded.
“He forgot this at the Leaky when he left.” Hermione wrapped her fingers around the mimosa filled flute glass that Ginny slid in front of her. “I meant to return it that Monday, but I forgot it at home.”
“You never forget things like that.”
Her lips pressed together. “Sometimes I do.”
“Uh huh.”
Hermione heaved a long suffering sigh. “Ginny.”
“I’m just trying to figure out—“
“Don’t.”
“—how you ‘ forget ’—“
“Stop.”
“—to take back the jumper—“
“Please.”
“—of the guy you like. But still—“
“I’m begging you to stop thinking.”
“—manage to wear it in public—“
“Ugh.” She dropped her head to the table.
“—like you're freshly shagging him.”
She doesn’t lift her head from its position when she responds. “I know.” Her back rose and fell before releasing in a pained groan. “Let me live in my delusion once, okay?”
“That’s borderline stalkerish behavior, Hermione, and you know it.”
Hermione tapped her forehead on the table top once. “I do know it.”
Her ginger friend hummed, then leaned forward. “You should show up at his flat.”
She sat up so quickly that her head spun. “ What? ”
Ginny slammed the rest of her mimosa back before gently waving it in the waitress’ direction. The waitress nodded. She turned her attention back to her friend.
“I happen to know that Malfoy fancies you. You show up looking like that,” she waved a hand at Hermione’s full person, “in his jumper, and I guarantee he’ll shag you to an inch of your life.”
“You ‘happen to know’?” She curled her fingers into air quotes before shaking her head. “I think I’ll pass. Your instincts haven’t been the most help as of late.”
“Michael was a mistake, I’ll grant you that. I didn’t realize he was gay. I apologized to him too.”
Hermione shot her an unamused look over the top of her mimosa. Ginny sighed again.
“And I thought Mia was interested. I didn’t know she had gotten married.”
Hermione continued to watch her, silently, waiting.
Ginny threw up her hands. “I am not about to go list off all the ones I got wrong. This one is a sure deal.”
She gave her friend a look. “And how many galleons do you have resting on this?”
“Five—but that’s not the point!”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “You know what—I’d rather talk about anything but my romantic prospects.”
Ginny frowned but nodded anyway.
Ginny had been surprisingly—miraculously—silent on the Malfoy-front for the rest of their brunch. They spoke at length on Ginny’s training with the Harpies, Hermione’s legislation, Harry’s ongoing paperwork in the Auror department, and Ron’s work with George at the shop.
It wasn’t that Hermione wasn’t grateful for Ginny abiding by her request in topics—she was—but when asked if Hermione was still going to her regular bookshop after, she narrowed her eyes. It wasn’t like Ginny to leave well enough alone. And when she waved Hermione goodbye, she caught a glint in her eye. It was enough for Hermione to second-guess going.
But not enough.
There was a book and a nook that was calling to her, at her favorite Muggle used book store, A Novel Place.
The owner, an older man, was often the one manning the desk, but this Saturday, a younger man stood in his place. Hermione nodded to him.
“Is Peter okay?”
He laughed. “Yes, he’s fine. I’m his nephew.” He extended his hand across the counter. “John.”
She accepted it with her usual brisk cheerfulness. “Hermione.”
He cocked his head, but didn’t remark on her name. “My uncle just decided it was time to retire. And by retire, I mean take off weekends.”
Her smile grew. “Good for him. It was a pleasure to meet you.”
John’s smile grew. “You too. If you need any help…”
She shook her head. “I know my way around here quite well now. Thank you, though.”
Before he could continue the discussion, she moved into the tall bookshelves. Twenty minutes and five books in her hands later, she vaguely recognized the ding of the door opening and John’s greeting.
She ignored it for a new book on the history of the Maldives.
Ever so faintly, an old song she recognized from her teenage years began to play. Hermione hardly realized she had begun to sway, mouthing the words, as her eyes scanned the shelves.
Spotting a title she wanted, she rocked forward onto the balls of her feet, arm raised, fingers extended, and she’s suddenly awash with his scent again.
Draco .
Amber and vetiver and… and…
Hermione buried her nose into the collar of the jumper, feeling her body, her mind full with the warmth she associated with him, her desired title forgotten.
If she had been any less distracted, she might have noticed the subtle thrum of a Notice-Me-Not charm, or the gentle muffling of sound of a silencing one.
Instead, the first and only warning she had of anything being unexpected was when she saw two hands gripping the shelf on opposite sides of her. She might have startled if she hadn’t recognized the hands, the rings that decorated them—if she didn’t know them from all of her previous study.
So when Draco Malfoy leaned in, his voice a soft brush against her ear and spoke, she only felt mortification where she would have felt fear.
“Granger, surprise seeing you here.”
She tried to grab her breath but all she could pull lungs full of were amber… and vetiver… and…
“Draco!” Her voice came out in high pitch, but she tried to undercut it with a bit of snark. “I daresay that you make the more unexpected sight.”
His breath blew a stray curl across her cheek. “And why is that?” Hermione’s breath caught—every word, his lips grazed the shell of her ear. She dropped her hands next to his grip on the shelf, in turn holding on white-knuckled.
“Draco Malfoy, in muggle London, caging in his coworker against some used bookstore’s shelves.” She swallowed at the vivid imagery of his jumper high over her hips, leggings around her ankles, his pants loose around his hips, and her grip on the shelves— “You have to admit that sounds more like a swot sort of thing to want to do.”
“Mm.” He finally caught the edge of her ear with his teeth lightly. “But I would think,“ he soothed it with his lips, “you,” he let his lips fall to her pulse point on her neck, “would know me,” he sucked at her skin, but let the skin release past the graze of his teeth, “better.”
She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he would leave a purple mark there. She also knew that it had to all be a fever dream, because two months ago, Draco goddamn fucking Malfoy had been in love with a woman other than his betrothed. And it hadn’t been her.
At least, she thought she understood what he had said? But it was hard to get her thoughts clear when her delusion was attempting to muddle them with gentle lips against the revealed skin of her neck.
“I…” All of her thoughts fled, a whimper escaping instead of an answer, as he reached the bend of her neck and rested his teeth and lips against it, sweeping his tongue across the skin in a broad stroke.
“Imagine my amazement when I rounded the corner and spotted you here,” He spoke to the spot he had left cold on her shoulder. She shivered. “In these ridiculous pants.” She felt him shift, and his weight was light but firm on her back. “Wearing my godsdammed jumper.”
With a groan, he ran the line of her neck with the tip of his nose, the soft of his lips. Hermione’s grateful for her grip on the shelves, for in that moment, her knees started to buckle. For the first time since this fever dream had begun, she wondered if, by chance, it was real. The thought shattered, though, when he pulled his hand over hers, lacing his fingers.
“And then you buried your face and sniffed , Granger, bloody hell .”
When she swayed, Draco tightened his grip on her hand. She leaned back, and allowed herself the luxury of hoping this was real.
And then he stepped back and she nearly stumbled. He didn’t let her, though, spinning her until her back was against the shelves. In that moment, heart thundering, she knew it was real.
Hermione didn’t know this look on Draco Malfoy’s face. It was raw and hungry and desperate, and trained entirely on her.
He stepped back into her space, hands back on the shelves, higher this time. His lips turned up in a devilish smirk.
“You stole my jumper. I’ve been looking for it for a few months now.”
Hermione huffed. “I didn’t steal it. You left it behind one night at the Leaky.” Her voice grew quieter, cheeks grew redder. “I meant to bring it back to you.”
Draco moved closer still, and when she inhaled deeply, she could feel his chest against hers. He didn’t move.
“But you didn’t.” One hand descended to her shoulder. Forefinger and thumb met skin and she melted into the touch. “Instead, you wore it like my clothes were the only thing to wear.” His fingers danced lightly over her bare shoulders. “Like I had some claim over you.” His eyes followed the motion of his hands, until he heard her inhale sharply. They shot to hers at the sound.
He leaned in, face intense.
“That would make you a liar and a thief, wouldn’t it?”
Hermione swallowed hard, her mouth achingly dry, eyes dropping to the sight of his lips as they shaped his words.
“My apologies.” Her voice came out hardly louder than a whisper. “What can I do to fix this egregious error?”
His hand smoothed out over her skin, warm, intoxicating , full weight on the bend of her neck, thumb over her fluttering pulse point.
“I want to see you come in it—in my jumper.”
Her body shuddered. “ Fuck .” It escaped her on an exhale.
He cocked his head to the side, eyes dark. “Is that an agreement?”
“Yes.” Her stomach flipped, heart pounding. She pulled the hand from the shelf into hers, pulling him after her. “ Yes. ”
She pulled him along, quiet and cautious, now out of the silencing bubble he had cast, she dragged him to the back stairs, up into the second floor—the one Peter had shown her the first time she had come here. To the book nook no one found since no one explored.
“Where are we going?” His voice was quiet behind her. She merely smiled back over her shoulder at him and gestured before them.
A round window overlooking a busy street, the window seat was wide and heavily cushioned, but she didn’t afford him much time to consider it, before she reached for her wand in her pocket and cast the same charms as he evidently had prior.
His cocky expression faded slightly, but with a blink, it returned.
“Too impatient, are we?”
She winked. “You didn’t specify where you wanted your show.”
His breath was hot across her cheek and his weight heavy across her back. “Wherever you want, Granger.”
There was no suppressing the shiver that ran down her spine.
As soon as the final incantation was complete, he pulled on her hand.
She stumbled into the seat with an eager smile, falling back slightly into the cushions. He readily followed after.
Lips easily found her skin, and the gentleness of his touch faded. He nipped down her shoulder, ran the tip of his tongue over the skin beside her bra strap, before plucking it up and away with his teeth.
She gasped, her hands coming to his hair. A growl against her skin, a question beside her ear.
“Are you okay with this?”
Her enthusiastic ‘ yes ’ is enough, evidently, when his fingers trace up the outer seam of her leggings and under the hem of his sweater. Using one hand, he supported himself against the glass and on a knee beside her hip. His other knee slotted between her legs. A brush of teeth and lips at the corner of her jaw and the air she pulled in was a hiss through her teeth. His answering groan was enough to tighten her legs around his.
A dark chuckle escaped him. “I haven’t even truly touched you yet.”
She turned her face towards him. “Then do it.”
His face twisted into a smirk as long fingers trailed across the curve of her leg and slid up, up . When he curled them around the edge of her waistband and paused, she almost whimpered.
In the same moment that his fingers pulled her leggings down enough, his lips descended on hers. It was the piece she had been missing, the ache she had felt, and she met every stroke of his lips, his tongue, every nip of his teeth, with her own.
His fingers traced the line of her knickers, before gliding down across the lace to her core. She moaned against his lips, but he didn’t give her a chance to breathe. Instead, his fingers slid across her clit adding to the slight friction of her lace.
When he pulled away, his hair stood in awkward lines, disheveled from her fingers, and he was breathing as if running a marathon.
“Fuck,” his voice was hoarse and warm, “you’re even more than I thought you’d be.”
His fingers kept a steady rhythm, and she felt the warmth start in her toes.
“More?” She choked out.
“More…” his eyes traced over her, desperate as if searching her face for the word he’s looking for, but failed, cracking over his final word. “Everything.”
The warmth spread to her knees, and her body began to curl inward. He answered in kind, a groan escaping, his pace quickening. But when her head dropped, body beginning to contort against the overstimulation, his hand on the glass slipped into her hair, pulling it back into a firm grip, keeping her neck arched as he watched her. It was all Hermione needed.
She caught a glimpse of him, jaw slack, pupils blown, a hungry expression on his face, before he cast her over the edge, and all she could see was white.
The hand in her hair loosened, but he let it slide lazily down the front of her neck, across her collarbone. It’s soft touch is enough to slowly draw her back from the edge. Her eyes finally open—when did she close them?—to find his face still studying her.
A single finger of hers slipped along the sharp edge of his jaw, a simple appreciation of the line, but he shivered under the touch.
“Even better than I could ever imagine.”
An incredulous laugh escapes her. “Imagine me much?”
“More than you could know.”
As he pulled his hand from her leggings, she followed the motion, curling into where he was still halfway perched against the book nook.
With a smile, she breathed in the scent of him.
Amber, and vetiver.. and…
“I’ll make sure the sweater is on your desk Monday.”
She couldn’t see him, but she could feel his body tense. Pulling her head from against him, she tried to identify what triggered the reaction. Instead of the intensity, the hunger in his expression, there’s a settling of horror.
“What?”
He swallowed, and she tracked the action with her eyes before glancing back at his face. A blush set high on his cheekbones. He pulled himself away, gently and carefully settling her in the nook’s cushions. When she tried to meet his eye, he glanced elsewhere.
“Draco?”
Her voice seemed to break him from his stupor.
“I’m so sorry, Hermione.”
Her heart leapt, fear in every beat. “For what?”
He was already on his feet, running a hand through his hair, and the distance between them felt suffocating. Already, the scent of him was fading, and she sat up, trying to get closer, to feel the warmth of his body.
“I didn’t mean to—“ Hand through his hair again. “I never meant you had to—“ Both hands through his hair. “This was a mistake, and I’m sorry.”
“What?” She was on her feet. But he was already turning, already walking away. “Draco!”
But his long legs had carried him beyond her wards, her charms. Trying to reign in her spinning head, her whirling thoughts, she tried to figure out what had gone wrong.
Had her comment about returning the sweater reminded him who it was he was giving a handjob to?
No, he had commented on her, on imagining her.
Then what was it? What would he have thought? Why would the comment on the sweater inspire him to think that she would regret what happened? He almost sounded like he had forced her, coerced her. But why would returning it make him think that…
Oh god. The memory of the conversation before the nook ran through her head and it hit her like a bludger.
Without a pause, she bolted from the nook, down the stairs and out the door of the bookstore. Vaguely, she heard John’s cry after her, but she didn’t pause.
Scanning the street she emerged on, she finally spotted his light hair gleaming in the sunlight as he moved across the square. Setting her shoulders, she practically trotted down the street after him. He hadn’t gone far, but the pace at which he was moving was relentless. She didn’t bother calling after him. Instead, as soon as she got close, she wrapped a hand around his elbow and used his momentum to turn him towards her.
She knew her hair was a frazzled halo around her head, her cheeks flushed, but her eyes flashed.
“Stop and listen very closely, Draco Lucius Malfoy.”
“Grang—“
“I said listen.”
He stood, waiting like a convicted man before the gallows.
She narrowed her eyes at his dramatics. “Do you really think that I dressed like this,” she gestured at his skewed jumper on her body, the peek of her bra strap on her shoulder, her leggings, “just because I had nothing left in my closet?”
“I—“ He looked doubtful.
“No. No. ” She leveled a finger at him. “I definitely did not.”
“I thought…” He trailed off, letting a hand down his face. With a sigh, he continued. “I thought that maybe that was the case, that maybe what you’re wearing was a sign that you wanted more.”
“What happened? I think I know, but I want to know what you’re thinking.”
“When I said about payment for wearing it, I had thought it was understood that I wasn’t serious. That I just wanted to see you like that.” He hesitated.
“And?”
“And then you said that you’d return it on Monday, like it was a repayment. And gods did I feel like a fool.”
Hermione stepped closer to him, finally releasing her grip and sliding it down to his hand.
“I said that as a joke as well, Draco. I wanted it just as much as you.” She swallowed hard. “I wanted you.”
Silver eyes widened. “You did?”
A small laugh escaped her. “I have for a while now.”
Hesitatingly, he stepped closer. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Well, up until recently, you were off limits. And-“ she raised a finger at the protestation she could see forming on his lips, “-you have acted absolutely no different since you and Astoria broke up. Hard to believe that you might be interested when you give me no indications otherwise.”
His free hand rubbed at the back of his neck. “Hard to argue the point there.”
She lifted a brow. “I know.”
“So…” He cleared his throat, straightening his shoulders, poise returning with a dose of self-assuredness. The hand at the back of his neck fell to her cheek. “If I were, to say, kiss you now…”
There was no preventing the color on her cheeks deepening. “I’d say that you’d have good chance for a snogging session.”
A smirk pulled at his lips. “And if I asked you to dinner…”
She rolled her eyes, and instead of answering him, launched herself at him, arms around his neck, feet lifting from the ground. The kiss she pressed against his lips was chaste, but when they pulled back, a giddy laugh escaped, her mirth reflected in his face. Around them, the elusive cologne finally falls into place.
Amber, and vetiver, and cedar.
She breathes it in like oxygen.
“I’d say ‘wine and dine me, Draco Malfoy.’”
The soft digital click of Ginny’s camera app brings a grin to her face
