Archive of Our Own

Hermione entered her flat and leaned back against the door with a deep sigh. She hung up her coat, then set the fire alight with a swish of her wand. Orange light filled the dark room, and a crackling sound replaced the oppressive silence. She crossed the room and sank into the armchair by the fireplace, exhausted.

What a day.

She didn’t know which was worse, that she'd let Draco Malfoy get under her skin again, or that she'd had to work late on New Year's Eve because of her selfish colleagues. It was days like this that made her seriously question her decision to work at the Ministry.

“Mreow.”

Hermione leaned down and gave Crookshanks a scratch behind the ears. “You understand, don’t you, Crooks?”

Crookshanks curled up in front of the fire, and the quiet that followed pressed in on her.

She glanced at the ticking clock on the mantle. 10:03.

Only two hours remained in a rather mediocre year, and she was late to Harry and Theo’s party. Very late. She wasn’t in the mood for celebrating, but they were hosting New Year’s Eve at their new house, and she dreaded the idea of disappointing them any more than she inevitably already had.

With a sigh, she headed to the bathroom to wash away the day’s work.

After a hot shower, she put on a pair of black jeans, then swept her haphazardly dried curls into a bun on the top of her head. She briefly contemplated changing into a fancier outfit (it was New Year’s Eve after all) but then opted instead for comfort and donned an oversized knit sweater before heading downstairs.

Grabbing the bottle of champagne she’d prepared in one hand and a handful of floo powder in the other, she stood in front of the fire and looked up.

10:27.

Bracing herself, she threw in the powder, enunciated “Notter House,” and stepped through the flames.

She landed in a large, dark sitting room lined with elegant sofas and bookshelves. Light spilled from the doorway as joyous voices clamoured beyond.

Hermione ventured towards the kitchen. As she entered, she was immediately enveloped in a hug.

“You’re alive!” Theo said, picking her up and giving her a twirl before setting her back down.

Hermione laughed at the flushed look on his face. “I had some last-minute things to do at the office.”

“I figured.”

She set the champagne down on the counter. “You're not angry I’m late?”

“I could never be angry at you,” Theo said, trapping her arms in a hug and resting his chin on her shoulder. “You’re always late or leaving early for something. Besides, you're staying all night this time. No excuses. You can take the spare room.”

“Fine, fine,” she said, laughing when Theo doubled down on the hug. Boundaries tended to disappear when he was drunk. “How many drinks have you had? How far behind am I?”

“Very, I’m afraid, but don’t worry, love. I’ll make you the perfect shot to catch up. But first, explain to me why work takes precedence over your friends, or I’m going to conclude that you just like creatures better than humans.”

She twisted out of his arms.

“Maybe I do,” Hermione said, but at Theo’s dramatic scoff, she gave in. “I needed to check in on the trafficked hippogriffs. One had an open wound that needed healing, and you know how long it takes to get them to trust anyone. Then I needed to see if the haunted demiguises were eating properly and check whether the de-homed pixies were settling in well. I had to set up a mini forest for them in an empty office this morning.”

“And where the hell were your colleagues?”

Where indeed?

“They all left early for the new year,” she said with a frustrated sigh. The thing about the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was that the majority of its employees were middle aged men who sat at their desks all day, acted superior, and gave her all the work only to criticize everything she did as though they could do it better.

“Pricks,” Theo shook his head. “Did you stay for a cuddle with the kneazles and knifflers, at least?”

“Of course. They’re social creatures,” she said with a repressed grin. “You know they need attention.”

“Since you like creatures so much, I know a dragon who desperately wants your attention,” he said with a pointed look.

Excuse me?

She followed Theo’s gaze and looked through the archway to the living room, where Draco Malfoy—the bane of her existence—stood, watching them with a furrowed brow. His striking silver eyes met hers and set her heart racing as irritation crept up her neck.

She forced her eyes back to Theo and scoffed. “Dragons are solitary creatures. And that one is not by any means desperate for my attention.”

“Actually, dragons mate for life and are fiercely protective.”

“And yet, they spit fire and destroy things,” she deadpanned.

“Uh oh, what happened now?”

She cleared her throat and looked around the kitchen for the drinks. “Where’s that shot you mentioned?”

Theo sent an exasperated look towards his best friend, then crossed the kitchen. He set two shot glasses down and filled them with a medley of liquors and liqueurs. He added a pinch of orange powder and then swirled his wand with the intensity of a Potions Master.

He handed her one with a wink.

She held it up to the light. It was a deep aquamarine blue with a swirl of orange and gold sparkles.

She clinked her shot glass with Theo’s and downed it. It tasted like rubbing alcohol on fire, with a strong aftertaste of…burnt marshmallow? She gagged. “How on earth did you get something so pretty to taste so bad?”

Theo cackled. “That’s exactly what Draco said. He was adamant that it tasted like dragon piss, so that's what we've started calling it. He gave me the idea to add smoke to really enhance the flavour.”

She snorted. “Of course he did. How many of these have you had?”

“Too many. Get yourself a proper drink and head on in with the others,” Theo said with a grin. “I need the loo.”

As the alcohol sank into her bloodstream, Hermione looked around. Theo and Harry buying their own place had been a surprise for all of them. They’d moved in a few weeks prior, but she’d been too busy with work to get the full tour. Now, as she took in the decor, it clearly reflected both their tastes: spacious, modern, and muggle. She was pleasantly surprised by the inclusion of electricity and cosy touches that were so very Harry.

Her eyes caught on the open archway to the living room, and she watched as everyone mingled. A game of cards had been abandoned on the coffee table, and smiles and laughter abounded. Draco clapped a hand on Dean’s shoulder with a congenial grin as they exchanged a brief conversation, and then he took a seat next to Luna, giving her his full attention as they talked. A bright smile lit up Luna’s face, and she must have said something funny because Draco’s rare dimples made an appearance.

Something in Hermione’s chest twisted as she watched them interact. Draco had always known how to command a room and navigate social situations. He gave people attention and made them feel special. It was why he was so popular even when he was a little prick in Slytherin, and how he’d won over her friends when animosities had melted after the war. He was polite to everyone now.

Well, everyone except her.

She never understood why, after all these years, he couldn’t just be nice. All she got were arguments. Their latest was still simmering inside of her.

She needed another drink.

Hermione tore her eyes away from the distracting blond and opened the fridge. The cold air felt good on her heated face as she leaned in to look at the options. Harry and Theo’s new appliance was larger than anything she’d ever grown up with (Theo’s extravagant taste and deep pockets wouldn’t allow for anything else), and it was currently filled with a hodgepodge of coloured glass bottles and labels she’d never seen before. Hermione bit her lip in contemplation.

Footsteps approached, then stopped just behind her. A beat passed, then another, and an awkward restlessness began to creep into her fingers and toes.

A large hand landed on the freezer door above her head. She knew those long, pale fingers with perfect cuticles anywhere.

Oh for—

“Feeling a little hot, Granger? Or are you trying to make Nott and Potter regret the muggle house? I hear electricity isn’t free.”

Her neck prickled at the sound of his voice, so close that his breath tickled the stray hairs near her cheek.

“I’m not—” The words died on her tongue as he leaned into her. The heat of his chest radiated through her sweater as he reached into the back of the fridge and pulled out two brown bottles labeled Fwoopers Finest Pale Ale.

She straightened as he retreated and turned to glare at him.

“It is when they have a magical generator. Besides, Harry and Theo’s vaults combined probably rival yours. They can afford it.”

A catlike smile mocked her. “Tsk, tsk. I’m shocked you’re so cavalier about spending your friends’ money. Magic isn’t infinite either.”

She grit her teeth. “Feel free to bugger off, Malfoy.”

His smile widened, and she watched, irritated, as he took the bottle opener from the counter and opened the two beers. He stepped in front of her, too close for comfort, and handed her one of them. Her fingers closed around the cold glass, and she stared at it, momentarily stunned.

“Unbutton that collar, Granger. Let your hair down for a change. It's a party.”

She flushed as the words registered and bit back her irritation. Hadn’t he had enough of razzing her for one day?

“I'm not wearing buttons. And I’m not—”

Her breath caught as he reached up and pushed a stray curl away from her eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

Anger flashed through her at the word, knowing he said it to get under her skin. A curl tickled her neck, and her free hand went to tuck it back into her top bun. Instead, her curls tumbled down, free from their knot.

“Malfoy!”

He looked back at her with a smirk before returning to the living room to join the group—to escape, no doubt, the wrath and indignation that bubbled up and settled in her sternum. She glared after him.

With a huff, she took a swig of her drink, relishing the cool bite of carbonation as it went down her throat. She hated that it was so good—light yet flavourful and easy to drink, exactly what she liked.

Despite his many faults, he did have an impeccable palate.

“There you are!”

Hermione looked up as Ginny appeared through the doorway. She took a beer from the fridge and joined Hermione against the counter.

“Hey Gin.” Hermione handed her the bottle opener with a deep sigh.

“Oh boy. Did you have another fight with Malfoy? You only ever sulk this much after you’ve gone a few rounds with him.”

A leaden laugh escaped her. “I guess so. When I went to find Harry at work this morning about the black market hippogriff case, Malfoy was there, as always, determined to make me crazy.”

“Well, they are partners.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “And?”

“They practically share a cubicle.”

“So?”

“I’m just saying, since you can’t avoid him, you’ll have to learn to deal with him eventually.”

Hermione crossed her arms and chewed on her lip. If only it were that easy.

Ginny’s demeanor softened. “Is he mean to you?”

“Not mean, exactly. He’s just always needling me, trying to get a rise out of me.”

“So what were you fighting over this time?”

“Nothing, Gin. Nothing.”

Ginny raised an unimpressed brow. “It can’t be nothing.”

“No—I mean the word nothing. He claims that it can be used as the basis for new spells, but the etymology clearly doesn’t allow for that! It's not Latin or Greek, and the word acts more like a zero in arithmancy. Do you remember…? Nevermind. Basically if you add zero to a number, the number doesn't change, right? In division? It's undefined.”

She looked to Ginny for agreement and received a blank stare.

“Anyway, saying that nothing would result in any meaningful spellwork would mean that the word nothing is in fact something, which is highly illogical. I mean maybe you could use it like multiplication… but it would just negate the other parts of a spell and result in, well, nothing! But no, he thinks it can actually be used to produce magic. God—he’s so infuriating. He just starts arguments for no reason.”

Ginny looked at her with a bewildered laugh playing around her nose.

“Shut up,” Hermione pouted. “I know what you’re going to say.”

“Oh? That you should just bang each other already?”

“Ginny!”

“What?” The redhead shrugged. “You can’t be in the same room without starting an argument. Get the aggression out another way.”

“You’re crazy. He hates me.”

Ginny scoffed. “Does not.”

“Then why isn’t he so belligerent to anyone else?”

“Is he though? Or does he just enjoy pushing your buttons?” Ginny wriggled her eyebrows. “Maybe if you let him push another button, he’ll enjoy that too.”

“You have no idea how wrong you are.” Hermione shook her head and snuck a glance through the archway. Draco sat with a knee up and his hand draped lazily over it. His demeanor was sly and relaxed, and there was a satisfied, feline look to his smile as he watched Millicent and Pansy talk animatedly about something. “Look,” she sighed. “All I want is to not think about Malfoy for a change.”

“Because you think about him all the time?”

“No! That’s not—!” She huffed and clamped her mouth shut. Because Ginny was right. Maybe, just maybe, she thought about him too much. She thought about their constant arguments, the way his eyes turned devious whenever she approached, the way he effortlessly twirled his quill between those long fingers when deep in thought, the reason why he was so determined to raise her blood pressure.

“Come on,” Ginny said, hopping down from the counter and looping her arm in hers. “Let’s go have fun and not think about Malfoy.”

Hermione chose to ignore the devious expression plastered to her friend’s face and followed her into the living room. Ginny squished in beside Luna, so Hermione sat down between Harry and Dean, as far away from Draco as she could get.

And directly across from him.

She averted her eyes.

Harry leaned in and whispered, “Do not ask me how we got here, but a game of Ring of Fire and Theo’s godawful Dragon Piss shots got everyone drunk as skunks and now they're playing Fuck, Marry, Kill like we're still in Hogwarts.”

Hermione scanned the room and took stock of the damage. Blaise was draped over an ottoman, a ludicrous party hat crowning him like a fallen king. Padma and Parvati were sprawled on the floor, laughing themselves breathless, while Ron and Seamus had their arms slung around each other, solemnly declaring one another the bravest man they’d ever known. Pansy sat like a queen in an armchair, eyes darting back and forth between the men in concentration.

“I’d fuck Theo—Sorry Potter, I've seen his dick,” Pansy said, looking somewhat less than apologetic. “You know how he likes to go starkers when drunk.”

Hermione laughed as Theo snaked his arm around Harry’s shoulders and grabbed his chest as he whispered something in his ear, making him go red.

“Marry Blaise, for the Italian vineyards of course,” Pansy continued after a sip of wine. “And, kill Draco, naturally. Sorry, love, you're incorrigible."

Draco flashed Pansy his middle finger, unbothered, as those around them laughed.

“Alright my turn.” Pansy’s hands came to a steeple on her chin as she surveyed the room. A wicked glint appeared in her eyes and her red lips curved up in a smirk. “Draco! Fuck, marry, kill. Hermione, Daphne, Padma.”

Hermione made the mistake of looking at him. His sharp eyes shot straight to hers.

“Kill Granger.”

An unwarranted hurt sliced through her chest, intensified by the laughter around the room. He took a slow sip of his beer, holding her gaze.

“Fuck Granger.”

Heat swept through her body. Her heartbeat filled her ears, drowning out everything else.

“Marry Granger.”

He didn’t look away, and she forgot how to breathe.

The air seemed to crackle between them.

Just when the prolonged eye contact seemed too much to bear, Pansy threw a bottle cap at Draco, stealing his attention. He caught it with dangerous accuracy.

“That’s not how this game works,” Pansy grumbled. “Your turn, you bellend.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Pass.”

A buzzing feeling was growing through Hermione’s veins that had nothing to do with the drinks in her system. She stared at the bottle in her hands, feeling her face go hot. Why was her heart pounding so fast?

She looked up to find Draco’s eyes on her again, an indecipherable expression on his face. The intensity of his gaze suffocated her.

Pansy’s attention turned to Ron. “Luna, Parvati, Millicent.”

Hermione barely registered the “Fuck Parvati, marry Millicent, kill Luna,” and the cries of shock from their friends as she tore her eyes away from the grey, and snuck out of the room.

It wasn’t until she pushed the door open and stepped out onto the back porch that she could breathe again. The door closed behind her, shutting in the sounds of fun. She inhaled the icy air in relief.

The quiet of the night calmed her racing heart. The silence of freshly fallen snow was accompanied by the whisper of wind through bare branches. The air was much too frigid for her to be outside without a jacket, but she didn’t mind. The cold was a much needed slap to the face.

She hopped onto the railing and leaned her head against the cold pillar.

Kill Granger. Fuck Granger. Marry Granger.

Was he messing with her? Trying to humiliate her? The thought didn’t make her angry like it should have. Instead, the ache that had been building behind her ribs all day swelled.

The door creaked open, and slow steps approached.

“I don’t want to talk about Malfoy, Gin.”

At the beat of silence, she looked towards the door and froze. It was not Ginny, but the devil himself who stood with his hands in his pockets, observing her.

Her cheeks warmed at her gaffe. Was he there to rub salt in her wound or ease the ache? Hope burned bitter in her throat, and she angrily swallowed it down.

“We don't have to talk about me,” he said, amusement playing around his mouth. He approached and leaned against the railing next to her.

“What do you want?”

He looked at her for a long beat. “You, Granger,” he said, unwaveringly. “I want you.”

The words landed harder than they should have. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she choked on a sound of disbelief. I want you didn’t belong anywhere in her mental model of something Draco Malfoy would say. Which meant it had to be a joke.

“Right.”

He pressed his lips together and studied her for a long moment. “You sound less than enthused.”

A bitter laugh escaped her. “What did you expect? This is all just a game to you, isn’t it?”

His expression flickered through an array of emotions before landing on uncertainty. The silence stretched between them.

Her throat tightened. She slid off the railing and stepped past him before she did something ridiculous like cry.

“Granger—”

The snow was crunchy underfoot, and she was properly lamenting her lack of a coat by the time Draco caught up with her beneath the oak tree.

“Wait.” He grabbed her wrist, and she turned to face him. His eyes were bright and his breaths came out in puffs of condensation, his nose already pink from the cold. “I'm being serious.”

She scoffed and wrenched her arm away.

“Which is it that offends you so much?” he said. “That I want to kill you, fuck you, or marry you?”

“This isn't funny.”

“I'm not being funny.”

“Really? Because it feels a lot like I’m just a constant joke to you.” Her cheeks heated at the admission.

“I just told you I wasn’t joking.”

“No? What was that in there then?” She pointed to the house.

He looked up to the night sky and ran a hand through his hair.

“No words? That’s a first.”

“I'm recalibrating,” he said wryly. “Give me a second.”

She glared at him. “God, you’re infuriating. Why is it so hard to get a straight answer out of you?”

“I'm infuriating?” He laughed. It felt like she was being scolded.

“I don’t understand.”

“Thus lies the problem, evidently.”

“The problem is you're not making sense!”

“No, the problem is you don’t believe me.”

When he looked at her again, his expression morphed into something she couldn’t comprehend. Thoughts were spinning in his mind, forming into a plan—she could see it. His eyes lightened with understanding and determination, making him look a little wild.

He took a step towards her, and reflexively, she took a step back. Her heart was in her throat as he advanced, one foot after the other, until she felt the rough bark of the oak tree against her back.

Draco’s toes scuffed hers, and he stopped. His proximity set a flutter of butterflies loose in her stomach.

“So how can I prove it to you?” he asked, looking down at her. “You think it's a game. It's not. Sometimes I want to kill you. I also desperately want to fuck you.” His eyes flickered between hers. “And one day, I want to marry you.”

She shivered at his words in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. And yet, indignation swelled in her chest.

“You're—That doesn't—No, you don't!”

“So sorry,” he said, amused sarcasm dripping from his tongue. “Do you fancy yourself the authority on my thoughts?”

Her cheeks warmed at his tone. “They are incompatible by nature.”

“How are you so sure?” He looked down on her with the hint of a smile.

“You can't want to kill someone you love.”

“Ah, but is love a requirement for fucking? For marriage?”

She faltered. “No, I suppose not, but—”

“Hate and attraction can coexist, can they not?”

“Maybe, but—”

“So your argument doesn't hold. But you're thinking about this the wrong way.”

“What do you mean?” She let out a shaky breath and looked into his eyes, still shining silver in the night.

“Do you want to kill me, Granger?”

“Sometimes,” she breathed. Like right now. Just a teeny bit.

He reached up and gently moved a curl away from her face before planting his hand on the tree behind her. He leaned in slightly. “Now, I want you to imagine being married to me. What does that look like?"

She looked at his lips, so close. Her head felt light.

Unwanted images flashed in her mind. She saw him standing under a carved wooden altar in a flower garden. She saw him laughing as they drank wine and cooked dinner together in her little kitchen. She saw him with his head in her lap, reading to her as she stroked his hair.

She blinked rapidly to dispel the images, but they lingered. She touched the rough bark beneath her fingertips, trying and failing to ground herself. It didn’t make any sense—all they ever did was argue, but her reaction was so visceral, her imagination so vivid, that it could only mean one thing: part of her wanted that future.

“You're crazy,” she whispered. To herself, or to him, she wasn’t sure.

“Maybe,” he said. “So that leaves…” He brought his hand to her cold cheek, brushing it softly with his fingers before trailing them down to her chin to tip her face up toward his. “Haven't you ever thought about it?”

A shiver traced her spine at the husky shift of his voice.

“I have,” he continued. “A lot. Every time that flush creeps up your neck when you’re angry, I wonder how far it goes. Every time you glare at me, I want to know what it would take to see pleasure in your eyes instead.” His gaze flicked to her mouth. “And Merlin, those biscuits you eat in the breakroom? The way you lick the crumbs from your lips like you don’t realize anyone’s watching. It’s…” His thumb brushed her bottom lip before dropping. “Distracting.”

Adrenaline set her nerves alight. The world felt suddenly unsteady. Was she shaking? Or was it the cold finally catching up with her? The longer she stood there, staring into his silver eyes, trying to parse what he’d just admitted, the more the frigid air crept in, nipping at her ears, numbing her fingers.

She didn’t realise she was rubbing her cold hands together until Draco took them in his own. He wrapped his fingers around hers and pulled them to his mouth, breathing warm air into them. She stared in shock at the unexpectedly sweet gesture.

She’d be lying if she said she’d never stared for too long at the muscles in his forearms, or admired how competent he looked in his Auror gear. How many times had she glared at that smug grin of his, hating him for being so attractive, or looked away when her mind started to make wild assumptions about his habits in the bedroom?

“I have thought about it too,” she admitted.

She half expected him to laugh in her face, but his eyes snapped back to hers, surprised, before his features sharpened with desire.

“Thank Merlin,” he breathed. He nudged his foot between hers and stepped closer. His hands released hers to cup her face.

In her tipsy haze, she stared at his lips. She imagined pulling his bottom lip with her teeth. Her fingers fisted in the material at his chest and drew him closer until their bodies nearly touched.

A shout of voices came from inside the house. They were counting down to midnight.

Ten. Nine. Eight.

“This is crazy,” she whispered again. “We hate each other.”

Seven. Six. Five.

“Mm. Do we?”

Four. Three.

His lips ghosted over hers.

Two.

One.

In the shared breath that followed, she barely registered the muted shouts of Happy New Year from the house and the crackling of fireworks in the distance.

The first touch of his lips was soft, almost hesitant.

The second was full of unsuppressed want.

The third was accompanied by a low moan in his throat as he pressed into her and threaded his hands in her hair.

Her own hands wrapped around his back and pulled him closer. The sheer physicality of his body against hers sent desire rushing through her. He was lithe and toned but also warm and comforting. His nose was cold against her face, amplifying the heat that flashed through her at every swipe of his tongue against hers. She found herself responding in kind to every nip of his lips and drag of his teeth.

His hands roamed down to her waist, and then her hips. He squeezed her arse, pulling her against him as he did. He swallowed her gasp as arousal shot through her. A nervous ball hummed in her chest.

Draco pulled back first. His eyes were dark as he scanned her face. “You good?”

It took her a second to respond. “Yeah,” she breathed.

“Come on then, it’s bloody freezing.”

He interlaced his fingers in hers and made for the house in long strides she could barely keep up with.

“What are you…?”

He squeezed her hand and cut her off with a heated look.

He wrenched the door open, and they stepped into the warmth, barely stopping to remove their shoes. He led her past the kitchen and into the dark hallway, away from the laughter and conversation that filtered in from the living room.

“Harry's going to…”

“No.”

“But they'll—”

“Shush.”

He pulled her up the stairs and through the second door on the left.

Once they were alone in the dark room, lit only by the moonlight streaming in the window, they looked at one another, breathless.

Something buzzed in the air around them—something electric and inevitable. In one long stride, Draco had her pinned back against the door as he slid his hands in her hair and claimed her lips once more.

There was something intangible, unnameable, in his touch. Something addictive. His lips left hers to trail soft kisses across her jaw and neck. Pleasure flashed through her.

He stopped just long enough to pull his sweater over his head and toss it aside. It mussed up his hair, which only made him look more attractive. She barely had a chance to admire his toned physique before he kissed her again, hands sliding up under her shirt to grip her waist.

Warmth radiated from his naked torso, and she couldn’t help but warm her cold hands on his skin, feeling the dips of his abdominals. She felt a dizzy rush of anticipation as her fingers brushed the soft hair below his navel.

His lips made her feel frayed and whole at the same time. He took control. His touch was insistent but also gentle and reverent, which she’d never expected from him.

Him. Draco Malfoy.

Oh lord, she was kissing Draco Malfoy.

Panic flooded her.

“Wait,” she croaked, hands pushing against his chest.

He stumbled back, breath coming hard. “What's wrong?”

“I…” Her heart was pounding. She searched his face for a sign of disingenuity, or for the words to explain. “You…”

His eyebrows knit together. He stepped back into her and took her face between his hands, holding her gaze. “Don’t—Stop overthinking.”

Her eyes widened in surprise.

“Stop doubting me. I can see it in your eyes.”

He took her hand and pinned it flat against his chest. His heart beat fast and strong under her touch.

“Can you feel my heart racing?”

She nodded.

“Is that not proof enough?”

“It's just…” She concentrated on the strong muscles beneath her palm, to feel his steadiness where she wavered. They were incongruous in her mind, this new Draco and the other, who found it his life's mission to annoy her. “It doesn’t make sense."

“You need logic,” he said, searching her eyes. “I know. But I’m afraid it’s rather illogical. I simply have this inexplicable, maddening need for you. Always have.”

Always?

“And I also possess this illogical desire to taste you.”

He leaned in to press a light kiss to the side of her cheek, making her heart flutter. His fingers found the hem of her sweater and slid under to tease her bare skin. “And touch you,” he whispered, grazing her ear with his lips.

He pulled back, and an affectionate smirk curved his mouth. “And take off all your clothes and have you sit on my face.”

She laughed unexpectedly, heat flushing up her neck at the suggestion. For the first time, his teasing felt playful, not antagonistic, and she didn’t hate it.

“And an illogical desire to tease me, it seems,” she said.

“Nope, that one’s perfectly logical. You look so pretty when you're flustered.”

Her breath left her, and then she laughed. “You're ridiculous.”

“The only ridiculous thing here is how long it’s taken me to tell you that.”

The words sent a sweet ache through her chest. She wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled him down to her. Her kiss was reciprocated with an appreciative moan and equal enthusiasm.

When his hands crept higher on her ribcage, she lifted her arms and let him peel off her sweater. She hadn’t worn a bra, and the cool air prickled her skin with goosebumps.

Draco leaned his forehead against hers as he looked down at her body. His hands ran up her sides. His thumbs grazed her breasts, catching on her nipples, and her breath hitched. She closed her eyes and bit her lip to resist the moan that threatened to escape her.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, voice raw.

He kissed her again and wrapped his arms around her. His body was hot and strong against hers, grounding her and setting her on fire.

His hands trailed down to her thighs, and without warning, he picked her up. She squeaked and grabbed onto his shoulders, wrapping her legs around his waist.

It was thrilling, how his muscles moved beneath her touch, holding her up like she weighed nothing.

She was too absorbed in the taste of his tongue and the feel of his body to notice that he was moving towards the bed until she was on her back, sinking into the plush mattress.

Draco crawled on top of her and settled between her legs. The weight of his body was intoxicating. His cock was hard and pressing against her centre, wrapping her in a dizzying want. He kissed her like he couldn’t get enough, and when he finally shifted his hips against hers, it was the soft beginning of something heady and dangerous.

Swimming with arousal, she opened her legs wider and tilted her hips instinctively into his. He moaned in approval and pulled back to lay his forehead against hers. He rocked against her slowly, and pleasure shot through her core.

“Granger?” he whispered, voice unsteady.

“Hm?”

“I'm going to make you feel so good. If you have any objections, just tell me to fuck off at any time.”

She laughed breathlessly. “Understood.”

A satisfied smile lit up his face, and it made her feel light.

He dipped his face to kiss her neck. “That’s it,” he coaxed, grinding against her. “This feels good, doesn’t it?”

She moaned her agreement.

“So illogical,” he said, trailing the tip of his tongue up her neck.

Her gasp was equally indignant as it was reactionary. “You’re such a brat,” she muttered, suppressing a smile.

He laughed, and then took her bottom lip between his teeth. “Guilty.”

His tongue found hers again, and she moaned.

If she had any reservations left, they were swept away by the look of pure hunger in his eyes as he began his descent down her body. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, and the middle of her chest. He took a breast in each hand and dipped his head down to suck one nipple into his mouth. She let out a moan and arched under him as he swirled his tongue around the sensitive flesh. Pleasure melted through her.

He switched to her other nipple until she was keening under him, unable to control the soft sounds coming out of her throat, and then his kisses moved south—to her sternum, to the soft skin above her stomach, then below it.

With a brief glance at her face, he undid the button of her jeans and pulled the zipper down. His fingers grazed the seam, and she whimpered with need. Ever so slowly, he peeled the material down her legs, taking her knickers with it.

As she lay there, nude, Hermione felt the moment of no return pass. There was no going back now. Whatever came next would alter them forever.

A dark need took over Draco's expression as he looked at her body. He leaned down to press a soft kiss on her stomach, trailing his hand up her thigh towards her center.

“Wait,” she said, pushing herself up on her arms.

Draco froze, and his eyes snapped to hers, analysing her face. She realized too late that he thought she was spiraling again.

“Pants off,” she croaked quickly, so as not to prolong the misunderstanding. “It’s only fair.”

His face relaxed. He shook his head with silent laughter and sat on the side of the bed.

She heard the clink of a belt buckle before he shoved his pants down. She sat up and ran her fingertips down his spine, admiring the muscles of his back and the small of his waist.

When he turned back to her, she bit her lip and looked at his lap. He raised a teasing eyebrow and then pulled her in for a kiss. He crawled back over her until she lay on her back once more, and as he did, his cock hit her thigh, hot and wet with precum. She grabbed his length in her hand, enjoying the velvety feel of his skin, and ran her fingers up it slowly. Draco groaned, and his forehead pinched in pleasure.

“Lie down,” she said, gently pushing him off of her.

Without complaint, he stretched out on his back, gaze locked on hers. Hermione sat up next to him and stared. She'd always wondered in the back of her mind what he looked like beneath the uniform, and now that she had her answer, she wasn't surprised that it did not disappoint. Everything about it was exactly right—the size, the shape, the colour. He was pulsating, straining, and so, so hard. She ran her hand down the planes of his stomach and over his cock. She felt the ridges with her fingertips, and he hissed in pleasure.

She wrapped her fingers around him, observing the way his breath hitched and his forehead creased. It was thrilling, seeing the effect she had on him.

She leaned down and kissed a line from the base of his cock to the tip, and then took the head between her lips. She tasted precum and groaned.

“Oh shit—” he hissed.

His hand wrapped in her hair as she slowly swirled her tongue around the ridge. “Stop,” he said, a desperate edge to his voice.

Hermione pulled back, shame creeping into her stomach. Had she done something wrong?

Draco pulled her to lie next to him and kissed her hard.

“Don't get me wrong,” he murmured against her lips. “I desperately want these sweet lips around my cock, but I'm not ready for this to be over yet, and it'll be over very soon if you do that right now.”

Oh.

She glanced down at his cock. It pulsed under her watch, precum dripping from the tip.

“I promise you can touch me all you want later,” he said with a light smirk. “Now come sit on my face. I want to taste you.”

She looked back at him, and time slowed as her mind scrambled to take in his words. “I thought you were joking.”

“I never joke about illogical desires,” he said, and she wasn't quite sure how he managed to look so serious yet so devious at the same time. “Please?”

In the end, it was the earnest expression in his eyes that made her crawl over him to kneel on either side of his head. She grabbed onto the headboard and looked down at him. She felt strangely vulnerable, exposing herself like this to him, of all people. She no longer doubted that he wanted her, but it still made her heart race in fear as she chose to trust him.

“I’ve never done this before,” she admitted with a nervous breath.

“Just relax. That’s all you have to do.”

His hands wrapped around her thighs and pulled her close. The moment his lips touched her, all capacity for thought left her body. His tongue flattened over her clit, and then he took it in his mouth and sucked.

“Oh,” she cried out in pleasure and felt him smirk against her. Her legs opened wider on their own accord, and then he licked through her folds with a groan of enjoyment.

He took his time, lapping and sucking and nipping at her until her breaths were short and a hazy pleasure had invaded all the cells of her body.

The palm of his hand smacked her arse lightly, and she jumped in response, clit pulsing with arousal.

It was a sight to behold, his shining grey eyes between her legs, focusing all of their power on her.

“Sit. Your full weight,” Draco ordered. “I can take it.”

She did so slowly, scared to crush him, but he only gripped her more firmly. His tongue dipped inside of her in a long, slow stroke, and her eyes rolled back as the sensation overwhelmed her. She tried and failed to control the gasps and moans coming out of her as he fucked her with his tongue.

She was so close. Her toes clenched, and her grip tightened on the headboard. She ground her clit against his face as his tongue entered her over and over, faster, and then deeper.

Without warning, he stilled her hips and returned his mouth to her clit, sucking hard. His fingers found her entrance and pushed inside, curling within her.

Her orgasm crashed through her like thunder, rattling her very being. White flashed in her vision, and she fell forward against the headboard, but Draco held her hips tight. He continued to move his fingers slowly in and out of her until she stopped shaking.

Her breath took its sweet time to slow down. When her thoughts returned, there was one pressing one: She wanted to be closer—to feel his skin, his touch, his attention. She let go of the headboard and crawled down his body.

Draco watched her with a dazed expression. He wiped his face with the back of his hand.

When she sat on his thighs, he followed her, pushing himself up to a seated position. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something, but then his hand snuck around the back of her head, and he pulled her in for a desperate kiss. She felt all his emotion in his lips—gratitude, reverence, a raw, aching need.

She wanted—no, needed—him inside of her. She felt as though she would combust if she didn’t have more of him.

Breaking the kiss, she took his cock in hand and lifted herself above it. Draco watched, a ruined expression on his face, as she dragged the tip between her wet folds and notched him inside. He hissed in pleasure.

She slowly sank down on him, letting him fill her, stretch her. She was still sensitive from her orgasm. Her head spun. He felt so good, so right. When she was fully seated, she met Draco’s eyes again. His breaths were unsteady, his eyebrows pinched together. With a groan, he pulled her tight and buried his face in her neck.

“Come inside of me,” she whispered in his ear. Then she pushed him back onto the pillows and leaned over him.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned. “Potion?”

“Yes.”

She started moving, closing her eyes at the pressure as she adjusted to him. She pulled off of him until only the tip remained, and then sank back down again. His eyes fluttered and his breaths came out shallow.

His hands found her hips and guided her slowly up and down his cock. Heady, delicious pleasure rolled through her body.

They were connected in a way she’d never imagined. His eyes burned into hers, like he was scared to blink. Their foreheads touched, then mouths, half open in pleasure. He kissed her like she was the only thing in the world.

Her movements slowed as she lost herself in his kiss, and Draco took the opportunity to roll them over so that he was on top.

She could only lie there in bliss as he took control. He kissed her neck, her ear, her lips, slowly thrusting in and out of her, stoking the delicious fire building within.

Her hands scrambled along his back, pulling him closer, deeper, and he took the hint. His hips slammed into her harder, faster. He buried his face in her neck. All she could hear were his unsteady, panting breaths and the wet sounds of their lovemaking. She felt too good to be embarrassed.

He thrust hard, once, twice, and on the third time, she cried out as her orgasm crested. She clenched around him as the tension released in radiating waves of pleasure. Draco stilled inside of her with a strangled sound. She felt him shudder as his cock pulsed within her.

They lay still in the afterglow, catching their breaths. She could feel Draco’s heart pounding hard in his chest, matching her own.

One of his hands found her hair, and his lips found her neck. He stayed inside of her, pulsing with latent aftershocks. When he made no attempt to move, she shifted beneath him. He took the hint and rolled off of her. As his cock slipped out, she felt achingly empty. Moments later, warmth followed as his cum leaked out of her.

Draco summoned his wand, cast a spell to clean them up, and then arranged the blanket over both of them. He turned towards her and watched her as if he was committing her to memory.

Her eyes trailed over the shape of his eyebrows, the line of his nose, the angle of his jaw, and the sharpness of his gaze. Her heart raced. She wasn’t sure how to act now that she was no longer kissing him.

“What is it? I can practically hear you thinking,” he said.

She bit her lip.

“Was that a hate fuck?”

He groaned. “I swear to Merlin, Granger. You're killing me. Did that feel like a hate fuck?”

“Well—”

“You don’t hate me,” he said. “I don't hate you either, and if you haven’t worked that out yet, I'm going to assume your brain has yet to recover from the best sex of your life.”

Relief coursed through her. She hadn't realized she'd needed to hear it.

“Why do you find it so hard to believe I like you?”

She chewed on her lip, thinking it over. “It’s just hard to wrap my head around. You’re nice to almost everyone else, but all you ever do is argue with me.”

“Would you rather I be polite? We can talk about the weather and other mindless shite, like whether you saw MacPherson in the Ireland game last weekend.” She scrunched her nose, and he laughed. “See? Wouldn't you rather debate the origins of magic and how culture has affected modern day spell creation in different ways around the world?”

“The etymology of nothing isn’t—”

His hand covered her mouth. “Uh uh. If you want polite Draco, there's none of that.”

She wrenched his hand away, but he grabbed hers and interlaced their fingers.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he smirked.

“I swear to Morgana—”

“Nothing is a great word. It has a whole lot of meanings.”

“Nothing cannot create things. There’s a principle in muggle science called the law of conservation of energy where it states that energy cannot be created or destroyed, only transformed. Thus, something cannot be created from nothing! Isn't magic just a form of energy?”

“Maybe that's the point, that nothing is, in fact, always something. Absence, desire, potential, denial, the space between.”

She huffed. “There are semantic differences.”

He chuckled. “A few hours ago, you would have claimed we were nothing, yet here we are.”

“We were talking about creating magic.”

“Didn't we just do that?”

She was struck speechless.

He pulled her hand to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss on it. Her skin tingled where his lips touched her.

“You win every argument, Granger. Let me have this one.”

It took her a moment to find her voice. “Fine, but only this time.”

“I like debating with you,” he said with a satisfied grin. “You can't tell me it's not fun.”

“It might be more fun if you’re not constantly trying to get a rise out of me,” she muttered.

He ignored the accusation. “Maybe I care deeply about the things we debate.”

“You care about the etymology of nothing?”

“I care what you think about it.”

“Why?”

“Always your obsessive need to know why.”

“Humor me.”

He searched her eyes for a long moment before answering.

“Okay, here's the truth. When you joined the Ministry, you didn’t want to talk to me, so I forced your hand a little bit because I know you won’t back down from a debate.”

She blinked. “You just wanted to talk to me?”

“I love when your face lights up at an idea you have. How flustered you get when you’re passionate about something. It’s so fucking attractive. Maybe I indulged a little in getting a rise out of you, but I do really want to know what you think—about everything. Your perspective is compelling and intelligent.”

Nothing in his expression told ḥer he was lying. His eyes trailed over her face with a softness that warmed her soul.

“Oh,” she said softly.

“Do you believe me yet? I want to see you every day, touch you, hug you whenever you come out of your office looking defeated. I want you to tell me who’s to blame so I can know who to kill.” His brow furrowed.

She bit back a smile, and reached out to smooth his forehead. He nuzzled into her hand.

“I believe you,” she said. The pieces were finally lining up in her mind. “But I’m not about to let you kill anyone on my behalf.”

“How about blackmail?”

“Don’t you dare,” she admonished.

He pouted, looking thoroughly disappointed, and she couldn't help but giggle.

The smile that broke out over his face felt like sunshine. After a minute it softened into a look she couldn't decipher. His feet found hers under the covers.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she said softly.

“Like what?” His finger traced the curve of her eyebrow.

“Like…”

“Like I want to marry you?” He smirked.

“You can’t possibly.”

His canines flashed with his dimples. “This again?”

“You want to kill me? Understandable. You want to fuck me? I'll concede that one for obvious reasons. But marry me? Malfoy…”

“Maybe I just want all of you.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “If you haven’t noticed, you make me feel things. Sometimes I am so caught up in your brilliance that I want to kiss you. Sometimes I want to punish you for that smart mouth of yours. But really, I just want to fuck you and fight with you for the rest of my life.”

She gave him a wry look. “You know, that could have almost been sweet if you’d left it at kiss.”

He rolled on top of her and settled between her legs with a wicked expression. “I can be sweet. Let me prove it to you.”

Her heart fluttered, and she let out a laugh of disbelief. “Do you really think you can?”

“...I’ll learn.”

She laughed under her breath. He was unexpected, and ridiculous, and she was beginning to like it.

His smile joined hers.

“If you give me this year, Granger, I'll give you a thousand reasons to marry me.”

Not for the first time that night, words failed her, so she did the only thing she could and pulled him down into a kiss.

Later, in the wee hours of the night, Hermione stepped into the kitchen for a glass of water, wearing nothing but an oversized shirt Draco had transfigured for her. Harry stood in the middle of the room, hair messy, face flushed, and neck covered in love bites.

They laughed at each other.

“I hope it's okay, I took the guestroom.”

“I know.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“You forgot a silencing charm,” he said.

“Oh god.” She held the backs of her hands to cheeks as the horror of his words washed over her. Had everyone heard them?

He grinned. “So. You and Malfoy, huh?”

Were they an item now? Her and Draco? “So it seems,” she said weakly.

“I think this calls for a drink.”

Harry pulled out two champagne flutes, picked up the bottle she’d brought to the party, and popped the cork. He poured two fizzing glasses and handed her one.

“It's about time, you know. He’s been insufferable about you all year,” Harry said, wrinkling his nose. “Though I'm not sure if this means he’ll be better or worse.”

“Oh, worse, undoubtedly.”

Harry matched her smirk. “Theo’s mentioned Malfoy’s had a thing for you since third year.”

“Third year?” She snorted in disbelief. “Wasn’t that when I p—” She stopped, swallowing a laugh. Third year was when she'd started really fighting back. Somehow it made perfect sense.

Harry raised his glass. “To finding love.”

“God, you're just as bad as he is! Love. Marriage. Jesus Christ.”

Harry laughed. “To a better year than last, then.”

“To a better year than last,” she echoed. “Now that I'll drink to.” She clinked her glass to Harry’s and took a sip.

Hermione glanced at the stairs just as Draco descended and hovered in the doorway. He’d donned a pair of sweats and, she would guess, nothing else. He glanced at Harry, and something unspoken passed between them before he turned his attention to her. His eyes twinkled as he watched her. A slow smile hooked his lips on one side, saying nothing, yet saying everything.

It was definitely going to be a good year.