Archive of Our Own

“This way.”

Hermione stumbled as Cormac guided her along, his hand firm at her elbow. The click of her heels echoed down a corridor she couldn’t see. 

The blindfold had been his idea, charmed to stick. Don’t want to ruin the surprise, he’d said. 

She couldn’t imagine what sort of surprise required her to be marched through Merlin-knew-where this late at night, but she wasn’t complaining. She’d been bored, lonely, and cooped for up too long. Anything was better than another night in the safe house. Even if it was with Cormac.

A door creaked open.

They stepped inside. A warm, comforting scent drifted toward her— stone, parchment, something earthy, like… roses. And maybe cedarwood? It tugged at the edge of her memory. 

“Ok, I give up. What do you have planned?” She adjusted her balance as he pulled her forward.

He didn’t answer. Instead, she felt him shift closer, his hand brushed her hip—then the unmistakable slide of wood from her dress pocket.

Her wand. 

Before she could react, he whispered, “Incarcerous.” 

Rope wound tight around her wrists, binding them together. Hermione jerked. “Was that—Cormac, was that my wand? What are you doing? Is this part of the gift?”

A low voice answered from the darkness. “Oh, it most certainly is.”

It was colder than Cormac’s, deeper, distorted as if coming from behind a—

Hermione froze. The hair on her arms lifted. 

Was that… a Death Eater? 

Cormac swallowed audibly. “I—I brought her, just as we agreed.”

What?

There was a pause, followed by a soft, disdainful exhale. “Not exactly. I said I wanted ribbons.... and a bow. I like to unwrap my gifts.”  

His gift?

Hermione’s heart started to pound. She tugged at the ropes, twisting toward Cormac. “What is this? Where have you taken me?”

He cleared his throat, but said nothing.

The masked man—the Death Eater—stepped closer. “Go on, McClaggen. Show me.”

Cormac’s hands pulled at her dress. Hermione jerked back. “Wait–what are you doing?” Her pulse raced as his fingers fumbled with the buttons at her neck. “Cormac—”

“I’m sorry, Hermione. I’m so sorry.” 

Several buttons popped, then her dress slid away, cold air licking at her bare skin. 

She twisted in a frantic attempt to cover herself, but her binds made it impossible to hide much. Cormac shrank back, leaving her alone and utterly exposed.

The Death Eater let out a low, guttural sound. “Fuck, McLaggen. You weren’t lying. She's even better than I remember.”

Then he remembers?

“What the fuck is happening?” Her voice came out a whisper.

The question hung, unanswered. Then the masked man spoke, voice both amused and cold. “Do you want to tell her, or should I?”

“Just know that I—I’m so sorry,” Cormac repeated. “I didn’t know that—” 

“Oh, you knew,” came the Death Eater’s distorted voice. “You just didn’t think you’d lose.” 

He approached slowly. She could hear the scrape of his boots on the stone. “Thought you could play with the big boys, didn’t you McLaggen? And you lost. Lost big, mate.” 

He stopped behind her. She could feel his warmth at her back. It made her shiver. “One hell of a trade proposal, though. Much too tempting to turn down.” 

He leaned in toward her ear. That scent—cold stone, rose bushes, and cedarwood—struck her all at once. “The Golden Girl’s golden cunt… Mine. Until his debts are paid in full.”

He swatted her arse and she shrieked. Shock flooded her, then fury as it all came together.

“Over my dead body,” Hermione spat, wrenching violently against the ropes. Her elbow collided with something soft. Cormac swore and stumbled backward.

She twisted her wrists, testing the binds. If she could just get one hand free… 

“Give me my wand, Cormac. I’ll handle him myself.”

The Death Eater laughed, and it sent a shiver down her spine. “Ah. That’s the thing.” There was the sound of fabric shifting—robes being removed, heavy wool sliding free. “As much as I love a good duel, it’s far too late for that. Wouldn’t you say, McLaggen?”

Cormac went very still behind her. 

“Tell her about the vow.”

“He—he tricked me, Hermione. You have to understand—”

“What vow, Cormac?”

“An unbreakable one…” he said softly, “on both our lives.”

She inhaled sharply. He couldn't have possibly—

“But,” his voice turned hopeful, as if he was trying to get her to see the bright side, “he can’t summon Him—or turn you in, or use any curses either, so—”

Hermione thrashed harder now. “Am I supposed to be grateful? You vile, disgusting little cretin. How could you—”

“It was a mistake,” he sputtered. “It’s not like you’re perfect, either.”

“You sold me out to a bloody Death Eater!”

A sharp “tsk” came from her left. “Bad form, McLaggen.”

She rounded on him. “And you’re any better? Hiding behind a mask, trapping me in some twisted unbreakable vow so you could, what, force yourself on me—?” 

She gasped as an unseen force dragged her backward, yanking her hands high overhead. The ropes snapped tight, stretching her upright, hauling her onto tiptoe. The back of her legs brushed against something velvet.

“I’m not going to force myself on you,” he murmured at her ear. The chill in the air—or maybe it was the low rumble of his voice through the mask—raised goosebumps on her bare skin. 

Warm fingers skimmed the lace hem of her knickers.

“By the time I’m done, you’ll be begging for it. Just like a proper whore.” 

“I’m nobody’s bloody whore.”

“Not nobody’s,” he countered. His hand caught her chin, tilting her face up. She breathed him in. Each of her nerves drew taut. “Leave, McLaggen.” 

“Er–well–no, I—” Cormac cleared his throat. “I’m staying.” 

There was a pause before the Death Eater responded. “Oh?”

“I need to make sure you don’t hurt her.”

The silence stretched. Hermione could hear nothing but her own sharp breaths.

“You want to watch, McLaggen? Fine. Do it over there. In the corner. And keep your hands to yourself. And off yourself, you sick fuck.”

“But—“

“No. You forfeited your claim the moment you sold her. 

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek as Cormac’s footsteps dragged to the other side of the room. It would have been funny if it weren’t so wretched. 

She squeezed her eyes shut behind the blindfold, mind reeling at the impossibility of the situation. But one thing was certain—if he wanted her to beg… she wouldn’t. Couldn’t. No matter what…

She drew in a slow, steadying breath, and settled into place.

Warm fingers found her skin again, gliding over her chest, down her back, mapping the soft curve of her stomach. He lingered, touching every place that made her shiver, until heat rose under her skin.

“Such a beautiful figure,” he murmured. “Lush… Perfect.” His fingers drifted up her inner thigh, coaxing another involuntary tremor. “And look, already so responsive.” 

She growled.

“See, McLaggen,” he drawled, “mudblood pets are needy little things. Their cunts require regular use. Kept full, mind, or they can get all out of sorts.”

His knuckles grazed the gusset of her knickers. She jerked, a soft sound escaping her.

He tutted. “And this poor thing's been left wanting far too long... Have you been neglected, pet? Not enough for you, was he?”

Cormac made a sound of protest, but the Death Eater only cupped her gently over her knickers. She clenched, her thighs tightening reflexively. He patted her softly. 

“I know, I know,” he cooed. “Don’t worry, pet. I’ll take care of it… You know, McLaggen, you really shouldn’t keep a pet if you can’t care for her.” 

She huffed, twisting away. 

His hands slid higher, thumbs hooking beneath the cups of her bra. With a single motion, the fabric parted, her breasts spilling into the cool air. Her nipples pebbled instantly, her breath catching as his fingers brushed across them. 

“Would you look at that,” he said softly. 

She bit her lip as he circled one tight peak. The sensation sent a bolt of heat straight to her core. 

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped, though it came out far too breathless.

“How could I not? Look at these tits.” He cupped her, tracing one gently. “Besides," he dragged her lip from her teeth with his thumb. "I see what's happening here. You like this."

His thumb rolled over the sensitive peak again, pinching just enough to make her gasp. He chuckled and repeated the motion, a little harder. Switching to the other breast, he watched her squirm, her body traitorous.

The cool metal of his mask brushed her skin as he lifted it. He flicked his tongue over her nipple, and she stifled a gasp as sparks shot down her body. He drew her deeper into his mouth, sucking gently. 

“Fucking delectable,” he murmured, “I bet you taste just as sweet inside.”

Heat pooled between her thighs.

“Let's lay you down, pet. See how wet you are.” Magic guided her lower, until she was sprawled across the velvet chaise—her neck pillowed against the armrest, hands still bound above her. She found herself half seated in his lap, the side of her body pressed flush against him, while her legs stretched out across the wide, plush seat.

He lifted an ankle next, and she kicked out, catching him in the thigh. He grunted, tightening his grip, as he pinned her more securely against him. An unmistakable hardness at her hip made her breath hitch.

“Ah, ah—remember what happens if you disobey? McLaggen, care to remind her?”

“Hermione—” Cormac’s meek voice called from somewhere at the edge of the room. “The vow—I swore—”

“Go to hell, the both of you,” she spat, kicking again, but this time he caught her, bending her knees so her heels pressed to her thighs. She wriggled, but ropes—no, ribbons—slid around her legs, cinching tight.

The Death Eater ran his fingers along each binding, tugging slightly, testing the tension. She recognized the pattern. A Shibari knot. 

No matter how she pushed, the satin wouldn’t budge. Seemingly satisfied, he drew her knees apart, pinning her in place with the flex of his arm. Arms still tied above her head, she was well and truly stuck. 

He vanished both her bra and knickers, exposing her to him fully. She gasped.

“This,” he said, running his hands along her thighs, “is how you wrap a gift, McLaggen.”

He stroked her softly, his voice dropping. "You look stunning, pet."

For a moment, she imagined it—her, naked, spread open, bound and displayed against the soft fabric of his trousers. The thought made her burn, part horrified, part just... hot.

He tugged at her blindfold, ensuring it stayed secure, then his hand returned, but this time, he dragged a single finger through her slit, slow and purposeful as he inspected her.

"Oh—you are soaking, aren't you?"

"I'm not." 

He clicked his tongue. “Can’t lie to me, pet. Not when I see the evidence dripping down your arse.”

Shame burned her cheeks. It was exactly as she feared. Her body betrayed her—wet, aching, and desperate, even as her mind screamed for her not to let it.

A low, rumbling vibration bloomed suddenly against her clit. Hermione gasped, hips jerking reflexively as the sensation shot through her. 

“You like that?” His voice was close now. “It’s a family heirloom.” 

Cold. Metal. Flat on top. A ring.

His signet ring.

“I like to mark my pets, see,” he drawled. “So no one forgets to whom you belong… You hear that McLaggen? You won’t be able to fuck her without seeing my name imprinted on her.”

“You’re sick,” Cormac muttered, still at the other end of the room.

He circled the ring around her clit, pausing to tap. A whimper slipped out before she could stop it.

She froze. 

“Yeah? Does that feel good, pet?” 

“No.” But heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks.

"No?" 

He tapped again, teasing her until she trembled, until shuddering gasps tore from her throat, and her hips arched into his hand.

He chuckled, low.

“Filthy little mudblood, aren’t you?” he whispered.

She jolted at the words. Only one man had ever said that to her. “Fuck you.”

“I will, pet,” he replied smoothly. “Just beg for my Death Eater cock, and I promise I’ll fill you with it.”

“You’re—delusional,” she choked out. “If you think I’m going to beg.”

He laughed darkly. “You will.”

The vibration intensified, merciless. Her head tipped back, a broken sound tearing from her throat as pleasure crashed through her. 

No, no, no. 

She tried to twist away, but only ground herself harder against him, making it worse. She fought to hold herself together, but instead, her body melted under his control, breath coming in ragged pulls. 

“There we are.” He worked her expertly, wringing helpless sounds from her as she clung to her last shreds of denial.

“You don't have to do this,” she gasped. “You’re better than this.”

“Am I? You sound like you know me, pet.”

Her breath hitched. “I—”

She clenched her jaw, desperate to keep it locked inside. She wasn’t ready to say it. 

Her body shook, suspended between shock, want, and things far more dangerous. Every muscle strained for release. 

“Go on,” the Death Eater murmured. He lifted his mask, lips brushing her ear. “Say it—Granger.”

The sound of his voice—oh gods—her heart slammed against her ribs. The words slipped out.

“Draco—” she gasped. “Draco Malfoy—” 

And with his name on her lips, she fell apart. The first pulse of pleasure rose in her body, white hot and—

No!

He ripped the ring away. The sensation vanished, stolen mid-climax. Her hips chased after it, desperate, a ragged cry torn from her throat. She clenched around nothing as her climax sputtered and died.

Ruined. 

“That—” she gasped. “You—”

Absolute bastard.

Tears burned behind her blindfold. What was she even doing? Fury stabbed through her—but the taste of his name on her tongue only made her want more.

She had to find a way... Maybe if she—

An idea formed. 

“Clever little mudblood,” he murmured, smug. “Clever enough to know that I won’t let you have it. Not until you surrender.”

“Let me?” She scoffed, forcing a sneer. “You couldn’t get me there, even if I wanted you to.”

He huffed a laugh. “Oh, Granger.”

Before she could say more, he pulled his hand back and cracked down, sharp, and squarely against her cunt. The sound echoed through the room. 

Hermione yelped as the jolt sent shockwaves rocketing through her. 

“Oi!” Cormac shouted, but Malfoy ignored him. 

“Now, I’ll have none of those games, pet.”

Another slap. 

And another.

“If you want to come, you know what you need to do.” 

Shit—

“I’ve half a mind to pry that jaw open and fuck your throat until it turns a lovely shade of Gryffindor red…” Hermione gasped, the words sent another shockwave up her spine. “But, I think this will do just as nicely.”  

His hand slid down her neck, over her chest and belly, settling over her mound. “Look at that flush,” he purred. “Exquisite. I hope you’re taking notes, McLaggen.”

Hermione writhed helplessly in his lap, panting, every nerve alight. Her clit throbbed so fiercely it bordered on agony. 

“I see you, pet,” he said low. “I know exactly what you need.”

Another slap tore a keen from her throat. 

“Fuck off,” she gasped, even as her hips bucked forward.

Malfoy laughed, and her heart clenched at the sound. Then he withdrew his hand. 

She let her head fall back, her muscles shaking, as he left her suspended between shame and unbearable need.

He let the silence stretch, making her wait, aching for his next move. Only when her heart had slowed, the sting dulled, and all she could feel was the brutal absence of his touch, did he return to her.

His fingers slid through her slit with humiliating ease. Cool magic soothed the places where he’d been rough. 

“There,” he murmured. “That’s better.” 

The tenderness of it was just as devastating as the pain. She went pliant beneath his touch, defenses dissolving.

She was still shuddering when his fingers pressed deeper, curling inside her, finding the spot that made her cry out. He was relentless. Steady and controlled, drawing her higher.

His body pressed closer to her, and his scent—parchment and rose—flooded her senses, making it impossible to think of anything but him. 

“You're doing so well, pet," he whispered, almost reverent. “You have no idea what it does to me—seeing you like this. Fuck—"

She wasn’t sure if he meant to say it out loud. The crack in his voice hit something warm and tender inside her. She arched into his hand and his hips moved with her. He groaned—it sounded as desperate and lost as she felt.

She did it again, and they both shuddered. 

“Feels so good, doesn’t it, Granger?” 

And it did feel good—gods, it felt incredible. She hated how easily her body responded to him, how anticipation coiled tighter with every stroke, every word. She couldn’t help it—she was hungry for it— desperate for the pleasure he promised. 

She moaned, her resolve slipping. She felt herself grow wetter, soaking into his trousers.

He answered with a groan of his own. “That’s it. You need this so badly, don't you? Are you ready to come?”

Yes. Yes. Yes—She was so close—

“Go on,” he breathed. “You know what to say.”

Her lips parted, the word on her tongue—

Reality slammed back. She clenched her jaw. It took every scrap of willpower she had—

“No,” she choked.

A long pause. Then he pulled away.

“I see.”

Disappointment hit her like a physical blow. Her thighs shook, need wound inside her, almost painful. 

He shifted, moving out from beneath her until her thighs bracketed his shoulders. He sank back between her legs, spreading her folds, inspecting her closely. Her head dropped back, cheeks burning with humiliation. She already knew what he’d find—and his voice confirmed it.

“Oh, pet,” he crooned. “Look at you… Tell me—she ever been this wet for you, McLaggen?”

There was a beat of silence. 

“Answer me.”

Cormac’s voice was small, miserable. “No.”

Malfoy exhaled, satisfied. “Didn’t think so.”

His fingers stroked her thigh. “Why are you lying to yourself, pet?”

“I’m… not.”

“You are. I can see how badly you want me—I can feel it. Right… here.” The cool metal of the signet ring grazed her entrance, and like some sort of Pavlovian curse, her clit throbbed in response. 

“You’re trembling. You're so desperate, you’re shaking.” His voice softened. “You're safe with me, pet. I'll make sure it feels good. All you have to do is beg. Just one little please.”

“Why?”

He paused, the air heavy between them. “Because I want to. Because I like it. Because you’re mine—to please, to ruin—whatever I choose.”

Her throat tightened. 

“Am I?” 

The question slipped out before she could stop it. She wanted to sound defiant, but instead her voice cracked. And suddenly, something soft and aching strained in her chest, desperate for the answer.

He stilled, and for a long moment there was only the sound of their mingled breathing. 

“Let me make this clear, Granger.” He rose back up, shifting over her. She heard the slow, unmistakable pull of a zipper and a soft exhale as he pulled himself free. 

His voice dropped to a low rumble, meant just for her. “You are mine. Unequivocally. Irrevocably. I will not give you up.”

Her heart thudded painfully, breaking something warm open inside her. 

She gasped when, without warning, the head tapped her clit, then dragged slowly through her slickness.

“Make no mistake, I will take pleasure from you. You just have to decide,” he murmured, “whether you’ll let me give you any of it… Because I very much want to.”

Then he settled at her entrance, the thick tip of his cock nudged, threatening to push in—but he didn’t. Instead he just pressed there, a maddening pressure right at the edge. 

He rocked forward, then back—almost, but never entering, never giving her what she needed. It was exquisite torture. Unbearable. Relentless. It made her clench and tremble, the need to draw him inside built with each denied thrust. 

A wanton sound slipped from her lips before she could stop it.

“So tell me where to put it—on this pretty little tongue? Or will you beg to have it inside this desperate, soaking cunt?”

Tears stung her eyes, her hips shifting minutely in time with his, desperate. She was painfully aware of everything—the humiliating exposure, the cost of choosing this. 

But most of all, it was the way he made her feel. She wanted to hate it—should have hated it. Except she didn’t. Not at all. Her body was a traitor. Her heart, worse. 

And that's when she knew. She'd already made the choice.

He sighed, then pulled himself away. 

“No—no—!” she cried. “Wait—”

There was silence. 

“Please,” she whimpered, the word torn from her—broken and furious all at once.

“Please what, pet?”

Her chest heaved.

“I want it.”

He didn’t move. 

“I want you. Inside.”

He made a satisfied sound, and his weight settled over her again. Her thighs pressed against him, holding him there, tight with anticipation. 

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured, the head of his cock resumed its slow, devastating tease. “Are you a Death Eater’s whore, Hermione Granger?”

His words hit her hard. 

“Yes.”

“Whose?”

“Yours—Draco Malfoy’s.”

“That’s right. Are you going to come on my cock?

“Yes.”

“Are you going to let me use you—fill you like the cum slut you are?” 

“Yes,” she sobbed. 

“Beg.”

“Please,” tears streaked down her face. “Please, Malfoy, fuck me. I want you to—I want your cock. I need it. Use me—any way you want. I’m yours—your whore. I’ll do anything—just let me come.”

He let it hang—just long enough, then smiled against her ear. “Very good, pet.” 

Her heart skipped as his fingers swept the tears from her cheeks. 

“I’ll take good care of you,” he promised softly. “Such pretty begging deserves a reward.”

Her breath shuddered in relief. 

He whispered an incantation, releasing the sticking charm on her blindfold, then reached behind her head to untie it. The fabric slipped away, and Hermione blinked up into warm, golden light. 

It took her a moment to adjust. But when she did, her breath caught. 

Before her was Draco Malfoy. White oxford shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Ink wound up his forearm—a thick black serpent on the right, wildflowers on the left—the Dark Mark set in bold contrast amongst them. Heavy rings caught the light as he moved, his fist working slowly over his cock. Gods, he was big—thick and long, the head flushed and glistening. 

A watch glinted on his wrist, ticking steadily. Each second stretched, taut with anticipation.

And then—his mask. Dark, skeletal, etched with silver filigree, hiding everything but his eyes. And Merlin, his eyes—black, rimmed in smokey gray, heavy-lidded, hungry, and fixed on her. She felt stripped bare, utterly claimed. 

“I want your eyes on mine when you come, do you understand?” 

Hermione nodded, her hips jerking infinitesimally into him, chasing the pleasure. 

His eyes didn’t leave hers. “I’m going to fuck your girl now, McLaggen.” 

A ragged groan sounded from the corner. Hermione twisted her head to see Cormac, hunched over, legs drawn up, face in his hands, hair wild as if he’d been tearing at it. The bulge in his trousers was straining, damp, and impossible to miss. The sight of it curdled her stomach. 

“Eyes on me, Granger.” Malfoy ordered, pulling her attention back. Her heart raced wildly.

He shifted between her thighs, lined himself up to her entrance. She gasped as he finally pressed in—slow, stretching her inch by inch until he filled her completely. They both exhaled, shuddering. 

“My girl, now,” he rasped. From there, he wasted no time, driving hard into her, setting a rhythm that made her toes curl. “My filthy—little—mudblood—whore.”

Hermione moaned, wrists still twisted in the satin, legs trembling. He was thick, perfect, every thrust sent sparks through her. His hand drifted from her hip up to cup her breast, thumb rolling over her nipple until she keened.

He bent low, mask brushing her cheek. “So beautiful like this,” he murmured to her. “Naked, flushed, wrapped up in my ribbons, my cock inside you. A perfect fucking gift.” 

He met her eyes through the mask, and the intensity of his gaze nearly undid her. His hand slipped to the base of her throat, pinning her in place as he thrust harder, deeper, until she writhed beneath him, hips lifting in desperate counterpoint, body clamping down around his cock so tightly it bordered on painful.

“Fuck,” he groaned, the wet, obscene sounds of their bodies echoed in the room. “How could you possibly give her up, McLaggen? Fucking perfect— Merlin—” 

His gaze raked down her body. “Just look at you… letting a Death Eater ruin this sweet, golden cunt.”

“L-let you?”

“Oh pet,” he chuckled, a low rumbling sound. “You didn’t even try to fight.” 

She scoffed, her jaw dropping. Yet his words, the way he spoke about her, spoke to her—only made her burn hotter. All of it fueled her need, drove her to the edge again. 

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, swallowed down the mortification …and begged again. “I—I need more,” she croaked. “Please? Will you?—I’m almost—”

He growled, picking up the pace, the hand at her throat pressing down as he fucked her harder. The ring thrummed back to life and he pressed it to her. It was everything.

She whimpered. His gaze snapped to hers. 

“There it is—let it go. I've got you, Granger.”

Her whole world collapsed to him. The mask, his scent, the heat of his body, the feel of his cock and the ring. But more than anything it was his eyes—the way he looked at her. Fierce. Like worship. It felt like… devotion. 

“Yours.”

With their gazes still locked, she broke apart. Every ruined orgasm, the tidal wave of emotion she desperately tried to hold back, crashed into her at once. One shattering release that ripped through her entire body. Her mouth fell open, but her eyes never left his as pleasure rolled through her in waves, until she finally collapsed, spent and trembling.

He fucked her all the way through, but then his own rhythm faltered. “That’s—so—gods, Granger—fuck—” 

He stilled, groaning as he came. His body collapsed over hers, shuddering with the aftershocks, each final pulse filling her to the brim. She relished the heat of it, the intimacy—the raw satisfaction in every tremor. She let it drag her under, melting into him until she was floating, lost to the world.

He stroked her face, brushing sweaty curls from her temple, wiping under her eyes. The cool metal of his mask pressed to her brow. He was breathing hard, holding her as her body went loose and limp beneath him.

For a moment, they stayed like that, until he slid out of her and tucked himself away. She felt the thick, warmth of his come, mixed with her own, dripping out of her and pooling between her thighs. She was too exhausted to care.

Malfoy looked over at Cormac, who was still sitting, shamed and silent. 

“See, McLaggen?” Draco’s voice, still breathing hard, was all smug satisfaction. “That’s how you fuck a witch. Good and proper. I ought to thank you, really.”

Cormac stood, shaky and pale. “I–I can take her home, now?” 

A slow smirk curled on Malfoy’s lips. “No. I’m afraid we’ve only just started, haven’t we, Granger?”

Hermione barely managed a sound, drifting at the edges of consciousness.

“Actually McLaggen, you’re done here. Come back in the morning. Nine o’clock? No—make it eleven. I plan to enjoy her tomorrow, too. 

“But—”

Malfoy’s eyes darkened. “Get out. Or I’ll set the wards to exsanguinate.”

Cormac’s eyes widened. He vanished with a crack, leaving them alone. 

Malfoy exhaled, reached up and removed his mask, tossing it aside. His face, bare now, searched hers for a long, silent moment. A range of emotion swept through them. 

He moved to her side and murmured a spell. The red satin fell from her wrists and legs. She sagged, boneless, into his arms. He gathered her against his chest and carried her through a door into the next room. It was warm. A fire crackled in the hearth.

Stone, rose, parchment, cedarwood—the scent was stronger here. It filled her lungs, seeped into her bones, and settled her nerves. It was utterly him. She’d know it anywhere. 

He set her gently on the feather soft bed, never quite letting her go. She sunk into the mattress and curled into him as he climbed in beside her, fully clothed. His hands rubbed her neck and hips, working slow circles over sore muscles, coaxing her back and grounding her as the world recalibrated. 

She groaned, eyes fluttering open.

“Hermione?” he murmured, cupping her cheek. “Are you with me, darling?”

She blinked up at him, the world coming back into focus. “Draco?” 

He smiled softly. “It’s me, love. Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she smiled weakly, then her face crumpled. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shirt. “Oh my god, Draco.”

His arms curled around her, his whole body trembling. “I missed you so godsdamned much, Hermione.”

“I missed you, too.” She tilted her face up, and he kissed her—hungry and sweet and desperately tender. He kissed the hot tears from her cheeks, and she found his were wet, too. She clung to him, their mouths finding each other over and over, like neither could quite believe this was real. 

When the kiss finally broke, neither moved to pull away. They stayed wrapped around each other, anchored together, for what may have been an eternity. But still not long enough.

A low, pained sound left his throat when she drew back, and it made her laugh. “I can’t believe this. How did this happen?” 

Draco’s expression darkened. “Well, we were at a revelry when that fucker offered you up as collateral. I nearly Avada’d him on the spot, but Blaise saw the opportunity and struck the deal for me.” His lips twitched slightly. “We made sure the plan landed in my lap. But I swear to Merlin, if it hadn’t, I would have killed him.”

Hermione smiled softly, smoothing a lock of hair from in his eyes. “Tell Blaise thank you. I miss him, too.” Her brow furrowed. “Did you really make an unbreakable vow?”

He stroked her cheek. “Of course not. But McLaggen thinks we did.” His expression turned sheepish. “I might have… modified his memory a bit.”

She smirked. “Clever wizard.”

His gaze softened. “How are you feeling, darling? Are you all right?” He hesitated. “I didn’t think he’d stay, and I didn’t get a chance to warn you. We talked about that kind of scene ages ago, but… it’s been a while, and I wasn’t sure if you’d—”

Hermione pressed a finger to his lips. “It was perfect, Draco. Absolutely perfect. You remembered everything I wanted. I even enjoyed how you tormented Cormac.” She searched his eyes. “Are you all right? After that?”

“Yes. You were… everything. A fucking dream, Hermione...” A shadow flickered across his face. 

“What is it?”

“It’s just…” His eyes fell. “Obviously we’ve been apart, and you’re free to…” he swallowed. “But I don’t trust him, the way he talks about you, the way he works both sides—He’s a slimy, foul git and the thought of you with him—”

She cupped his face, drawing him close. “No, Draco—no. Nothing’s ever happened. Never. The Order thought he needed incentive, so I volunteered. But,” she smirked, “I may have used a few memory charms of my own.”

He exhaled, forehead dropping to hers. His eyes fluttered shut, and the relief rolling off of him was palpable. For a moment he just breathed her in. “Clever,” he whispered. “...It’s mad, I know.”

“It’s not—Draco, I’m yours. Always have been. Always will be. Yeah?”

He nodded, more vulnerable than she’d ever seen him. “Yeah.” 

She reached for him, her hands framing his face, and kissed him. It was soft at first, then fierce as everything she felt poured in. He melted into her, hands burying in her hair as if he'd drown without her. When she finally drew back, his voice was thick. “I love you, Hermione," he breathed. "I’m yours, too. Now. Before. After this war. As long as you’ll have me.”

“I know,” her voice wavered. “I love you, too.”

They held each other close, letting the unsaid things rest between them. Hermione took a deep, shuddering breath. “So tell me about this ‘vow’. How long do we have?”

He sighed. “Right now? Only until morning.” Then his expression shifted, into the sly, cunning Slytherin she knew so well. “But I can call you back. McLaggen racked up quite the debt.” He winked and she grinned. “It’ll have to be careful, infrequent… If anyone catches on—”

“I know.” She shivered, then fingered the hem of his collar. “Will you take these off and lay with me? I just want to feel you.”

He shed his clothes and slid under the covers beside her, skin to skin. Hermione traced the new tattoos on his chest, each line an aching reminder of how much time had passed. 

“So does this mean we could do another scene like this?”

“Are you saying you want to?”

“I do.” Her face warmed. “I liked it. I’d like you to mark me next time. I want to take something of you with me.”

He hummed, nuzzling her neck. “There’s still time for that tonight, love. Though, if you want to do it again—I have some ideas.”

“So do I—all the better if it horrifies Cormac.”

His eyes glinted. “Let’s talk limits later—and possibly a new safe word.”

“Perfect.”

He kissed her. Slow. Deep. Desire pooled between her thighs. She rolled her hips against his, and felt him grow hard in response. Then he drew back, his gaze turning serious. 

“Wait, I want you to have something.” He turned and retrieved a ring from his bedside table—silver, with a flat surface engraved with the Malfoy family crest. It was a match for his, but smaller, clearly made for a partner. 

He pressed it into her palm and curled her fingers around it. “I don’t trust him. He thinks exclusivity is part of the vow, but if he tries anything… it’s warded—against hexes, mild curses, even Obliviation.” His voice softened. “And if you ever need me, ever, press it—it’ll bring you straight back here.”

His gaze flickered over her face. “I wanted to give it to you back then. I just never imagined we’d be torn apart like that…”

She looked at the ring, then back at him, a dozen emotions swelling. This wasn’t nothing. He’d gifted her a piece of him. A promise. A way back—one she could always carry. Her throat tightened as she slid it onto her finger. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

He let out a slow breath, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll figure this out. I’m not losing you again.”

She wrapped a leg around his hip, and kissed him—his lips, below his ear, and along his throat. 

He groaned and rolled her beneath him. The weight of his body made her own tremble. “Now,” he breathed, “how about those marks?”