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Hermione felt the mattress dip but she chose to keep her eyes closed.
The scent of his freshly showered body, warm and soft behind her, was enough for right now.
He’d come back, and that was more than enough.
“You’ll be safe.”
“I will.”
“You always say that.”
“And?”
“You always come back.”
She hadn’t believed it.
He was still saying ‘four’ when he meant ‘eight’, rating his pain against how much more it would hurt to die if he stayed back, instead of carrying out yet another one of Voldemort’s death-wish missions.
Some days she fantasised about walking out of their suite and down to the library – and in those fantasies, the door to the drawing room opened and she saw it. The Elder wand, still in his hand, the same wand that had shown its loyalty to Harry but had still not been enough to mean they could win.
She wondered idly, her brain starting to wake up now, whether Harry was still going on missions too, or if they’d finally let him rest.
It made her furious that she couldn’t leave, couldn’t go out there alongside her husband and get the job done faster, maybe even end the war.
But no – she was hunted. Considered even more dangerous than Harry now, because without the piece of Voldemort inside him, he was just another rebel.
Hermione Granger (well, Granger-Malfoy, now)? She was the real problem – apparently – and so she was hidden.
The one person she did not hide from made a sound like he knew she was awake.
“Mmm,” she responded, stretching her legs. “Out of ten?”
“Ten.”
“What?!”
“Sorry… are you not asking me on a scale how much I want to rip your knickers off with my teeth?”
“You are ridiculous.”
“I’m in love with my wife, and I’m home. I can be ridiculous for a minute, witch.”
“More than a minute, surely.” She shifted, feeling him move behind her and realising there was nothing between their bodies but the nightdress and underwear she was wearing. “Are you already naked, for Merlin’s sake?”
“Why would I get dressed?” His mouth was against her shoulder, her collarbone, the hollow of her throat. “You’re mine, and I want you. It’s Saturday, love. Surely we can have a lie-in.”
“Who says it’s Saturday?”
“I say.”
She lifted her arms as she felt his fingers against the satin hem, letting out a satisfied sigh. “If you say so, husband. Let me up for a minute?” He groaned in annoyance, rolling back over – she saw him wince and she eyed him testily.
“Out of ten?”
“Four.”
“Do you just say ‘four’ every time I ask?”
“Fine. Three.”
“Draco…”
“You are not back in bed and therefore I am not speaking to you.”
She stepped into his – their – ensuite, closing the door. His voice came through, yelling to her from the bed like she was his bloody servant.
“What?”
“I said,” and she could hear he was closer now, the pest, “I left you a present. On the sink.”
She looked across and saw a piece of parchment – Summoning it, she saw it was a drawing in what she guessed was crayon. The little figure, an orange-haired girl in a purple dress, held a flower while standing on a hill under a yellow sun with sunglasses on.
‘I miss you, Aunty Mimi’ read the messy scrawl.
“Oh,” Hermione said, shoulders dropping at the idea that Winnie Longbottom could miss her when they’d never met. “Little Winifred.”
“LB said to say Ginevra is most unhappy that we haven’t,” he gave a derisive snort, “sorted our ‘fucking housemate’ out.” She looked up and saw that he was leaning on the frosted glass with his forehead, hands against the wood on the outside. The pale outline of his naked body was enough to remind her she’d been trying to be quick.
Hermione started to laugh, because what else could she do? “As am I, my love. Go back to bed, can you? It’s not a lie-in if you’re hovering outside the bloody door.”
He grunted in assent and disappeared.
“If it’s really a three,” she purred as she climbed back over the covers, nightdress discarded and underwear purely remaining in place to remind him that if he insisted on tearing things off with his teeth that he should be prepared to face the consequences, “then I suppose you may have your wicked way with me.”
“It is a three,” he said, pulling her closer, “and even if it wasn’t, I would still be doing exactly that.”
“Your ribs are still healing, Draco, you can’t just-”
“Shut up, woman, and kiss your husband.”
She wanted to protest – if only on principle – but his mouth was so tempting, even while it was spouting all that cheek.
Gods, but it had been easy to fall in love with this stupid, annoying, clever man – it had happened faster than she’d ever guessed was possible, and then become an embarrassing secret for months (only becoming more embarrassing when he’d laughingly told her he knew).
Of course, he had been laughing because in the same breath he’d said, “if that’s your secret, I assume you didn’t know mine?”
“Your what?”
“My secret.”
“You’ve got lots. You never tell me anything, you arse.”
“Is that any way to speak to your future husband?”
“My what?!”
“Well, if you finally admit you love me back, there’s no reason not to give you this.”
The most offensively large diamond ring had been almost shoved onto her finger while she was still staring at his face, utterly confused.
“Do you mean-”
“Of course I love you. How could I not? You’re the most aggravating, clever witch I’ve ever had sex with.”
“I’m the only witch you’ve ever had sex with.”
“Semantics.”
That same tempting mouth was making its way down now, reminding her why she’d said yes – not the only reason, of course, but definitely one of them.
“Draco,” she whispered, head pushing back in the pillows; the hand that didn’t carry the obscene gem tangled itself in his silver-blonde hair. “You’re spoiling me.”
“Of course I am,” he muttered against her hip, before moving to kiss just above her underwear. “Up.”
She obeyed – why wouldn’t she? – and lifted her pelvis away from the bed. “I want-”
“Shh. I don’t care what you want.”
“Yes you d- …oh.”
“Hmm?”
She looked down, eyes narrowing as he grinned smugly from between her thighs. “I should crush your head, you idiot.”
He placed his hands, rough and firm, against the inside of each of her legs. “Try.”
She started to squeeze them back together, squealing and then making an extremely unbecoming sound when he moved his tongue against her so she lost the will to fight him.
It had been so long since they’d been able to laugh, sun outside the window, and feel like they had time.
Lately, they’d been devouring each other frantically, furiously – something in the way the orders came in erratically, often without enough information to be safe, had been an unspoken signal that something was shifting outside the Manor walls.
Between that, and the few times he’d come home in the shape he’d been in however many days ago, she felt like there was no space or time for longing and lust.
She knew that he was sure about how much she loved him, but sometimes it felt like she needed just to remind him once more – give him something to come home to that wasn’t her throwing books at his head in frustration when she found something she was sure could help if she could just talk to Kingsley.
“You’re. Not. Leaving.”
“Draco Lucius-”
“Don’t.”
“Well-”
“If you think I won’t fucking tie you up, you’re wrong.”
She’d smirked at that, and he hadn’t, and that was when she knew he was serious. “Please.”
“No, Hermione.”
The sound of the book hitting his shoulder (because she had been aiming at his head, yes, but he’d rudely moved out of the way) had not been at all satisfying.
“Darling?”
She snapped back to the moment, having been lost in thought – she saw he was still watching her, head leaning against her thigh. “Sorry – sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he said, moving back up and surrounding her – his knees at her hips, palms beside her head, mouth back to peppering kisses on her shoulders and neck.
“You were sad last night.”
“I’m always sad when you leave. I want to help. I want to protect you.”
“You do. By staying here and making sure all my hard work doesn’t go to waste. My good little wife.”
She snorted, pulling her face back from his kisses. “Don’t say that like I chose this.”
“Come on, Hermione. It’s the weekend, can’t we just-”
“I was worried about you. I still am.”
“Don’t be.”
“Do what I want.”
Crowding her inside one of his favourite, annoyingly comforting embraces, he rested his chin against her shoulder. “I love you. I wish you could do whatever makes you happy, too. It’s just not safe, love.”
“Why do you get to-”
“You know why.”
Careful not to press too hard where the bruises were yellowing, she placed her hands on his waist. “I don’t want to do this any more, Draco.”
“Something’s changing, we know it is.”
“Not fast enough.”
He smiled against her cheek. “Impatient little witch.”
“As if you’re any more patient than me.” She huffed, but he didn’t move.
“This house is yours,” he said into her ear, suddenly quiet. “If I don’t-”
“Stop it. You always come back.”
She couldn’t bear it. Wouldn’t. Hermione Granger-Malfoy was not born to become a widow, and she would not have it.
Grasping at his shoulders, she tried to make him sit back and talk to her. “Why are you talking about ifs? We don’t – is something going on and I should know about it?”
“No.”
“Draco?” She pushed harder this time, almost rough. “Tell me.”
“I don’t want you to be alone.”
“I’m not-”
“If I can’t get home, I don’t… I can’t bear to think of you all alone here.”
Hermione didn’t bother pointing out that if he didn’t – couldn’t – come home, she would not be staying put for a second longer than she had to.
“Why are you thinking about that now?”
He huffed, face still against her shoulder. “I’ve never stopped. Not since that day.” He pointed across the room, never lifting his head, towards the balcony doors.
‘That day’ had been the best of her whole life, even while being sandwiched between the worst ones.
The news had arrived, slower through the Order’s channels, that her parents had been found in Australia; the hunt for her had led Voldemort to them, eventually.
He'd expected she'd appear, the same way Harry had, when word spread.
Funnily enough, it had been Pansy who’d said to her, “You can’t, Granger. You have to stay.”
Two days after she’d added Draco’s name to hers, word arrived to say ‘the filthy Muggles responsible for the Mudblood bitch are gone’.
Knowing they’d never have been able to attend the wedding was one thing – Kingsley had done the binding, Neville standing as their witness, all while hidden carefully on the balcony outside the same window that was now letting the sun in over Draco’s back.
She’d been allowed to see Pansy because Draco could sneak her into the Manor under the guise of sleeping with her – which was utterly ridiculous, really.
Luckily, her husband didn’t object to the ruse if it meant Hermione would be allowed to have a single day of happiness.
With baby’s breath braided through her hair, in a lemon yellow dress they’d taken from Narcissa’s abandoned wardrobe and altered to fit her. A bouquet of roses taken from the gardens she had never entered.
He’d walked through the doors in a tuxedo, chin trembling at the sight of her – she’d never asked where he’d gotten it from, just loved him harder as he stood there as a man, not just a wizard.
Harry had allowed himself to be seen in France for five minutes to get their ‘housemate’ out of the drawing room before returning home. Pansy had been waiting for him (in the dress she’d taken for herself, knowing Narcissa would have wanted her to).
All that so Hermione Granger could marry Draco Malfoy.
Becoming the wife of a man who was living the same double life as Snape had been something she’d battled her conscience over – not because she had any doubt in him, in who he was under the Death Eater mask he wore. He'd proven himself at the Battle of Hogwarts, saving Neville when he could have simply run.
No, her conscience struggled because to know that her husband was plagued with the thoughts of ‘what if’, just as she was, hurt more than any of that.
He went on every mission, knowing it could be his last, and all she did was hide.
They’d fought so hard.
As schoolyard enemies.
As soldiers on opposite sides of a war.
In these rooms, still against each other… until they’d figured out that the fighting was only a cover for what was real between them, because they didn’t know how else to interact.
Then they’d had to fight together, multiple members of the Order saying she’d been cursed, or brainwashed.
Draco had been restrained by magic while they dosed her with Veritaserum; she’d only forgiven Ron for that after he died, and she was sure Draco never had.
She almost missed the Dark Mark now, because that had been the only reason they’d been able to move around so freely in the years before – Voldemort had been stronger, more confident, cocky.
Hermione had long suspected that he was weakening, because they’d destroyed all of the Horcruxes and there was only so much anyone could do with only an eighth of a soul.
The appearance of the coins had been infuriating but also made her feel certain she was right; unfortunately, when it came to weakness and the one who called himself a Lord, it made him angrier and more suspicious; and so, her movement had been reduced to within their suite.
His warm breath puffed against her throat.
“You’re not going to leave me alone, Draco. I won’t let you. If this is really something to worry about,” she kissed his shoulder, “you have to let me out.”
“Never.”
“Draco-”
“I won’t fucking do it, Granger, stop asking. You’re mine to protect – I spilled my blood to ward these rooms, I won’t let yours be touched.” He bit her neck lightly, and made a low growl (like he always did to prove that he was willing to behave like an animal when it came to her).
She bit him back, harder, and he flinched. “Calm down, you beast.”
“Shan’t, Beauty.”
This was the one reference he understood. She’d taken to telling him she’d kissed him ‘like Glinda’ when she’d been hiding what she felt, knowing that if he understood, he’d think no more of it than a little joke about a good witch.
What she’d meant was something so much deeper, from the very beginning. That she needed him back safely, and hoped somehow that need would keep him alive.
Sadly, her copy of the Wizard of Oz had been lost sometime years before, so she'd never been able to explain it to him properly; now, though, she didn't have to hide how much she needed him. The kisses she placed on his forehead were just a wife loving her husband each time he had to leave.
Instead, this was their joke.
He’d presented her, almost shyly, with a flat package wrapped in brown paper as they’d laid together in their bed as husband and wife for the first time.
“Potter said I should give you this,” he’d muttered, ears turning pink. “He said I wasn’t allowed to read it until after you opened it.”
She’d pulled away the wrapping and laughed until she cried, and then cried again, properly. Sobbing, unable to explain, she’d handed it to him and covered her face.
“So I’m a hairy, mad creature who lives in a castle?” he’d joked, pulling the Little Golden Book away when she’d tried to yank it from his hands.
“Now now, Mrs Malfoy,” he’d said, eyes warming at the final line that assured a happily ever after, “I understand. And he’s right. You have changed me. And one day… you’ll have the library all to yourself. I promise.”
“You can’t promise that, Draco.”
“I can do what I like, if it will make my wife happy.”
Hermione came back to herself, realising that he was kissing her again; the heat in them was unmistakable – not that he ever kissed her dispassionately, no.
It was simply that the way his lip dragged against her mouth was like he was tracing her with it, his hands moving once again to leave tingling traces of his featherlight touch on her arms.
“Stop, Draco. Don’t try and distract me-”
“I’m not. I’m trying to make love to my wife.”
Taking hold of his face, she saw the hurt and fear barely hidden in the silver depths as he studied her.
His mouth pressed into a line and then his brow furrowed; he took a breath, and it wasn’t as calm as she expected it to be.
“Draco, you’re scaring me.”
His eyes moved to the top of the bed – she watched his throat work as he tried to explain.
“I – well, when I hit the ground, for a moment I wasn’t sure if I would get up in time. And the only thing I thought was, ‘Who’ll look after Hermione’.”
His gaze flicked back to hers, and then away as he tried to swallow around the thickness in his throat. “I can’t… I won’t leave you here with nothing. With nobody.”
“I can take care of myself.”
He looked into her eyes; she saw that he was angry. “I don’t want you to take care of yourself. I want to take care of you.” His lip trembled – he bit it and breathed out heavily. “I want – no, I need – to know someone will be here if I’m not.”
“Harry will-”
“A Malfoy.”
She stopped, suddenly thinking that she understood – but surely not. She’d never even considered this idea – never once entertained it. She didn’t dare imagine.
Her mind was suddenly overtaken with a vision of herself, holding a baby with Draco’s eyes, and she felt that heat on her neck that meant she might lose control over her tears at any moment. His arms tightened around her instantly.
“A part of me for you to keep.”
“A baby?” she gasped, shocked into inhaling – she hadn’t even noticed she’d already been holding her breath.
She wiggled, trying to get out of his embrace because she couldn’t let herself get carried away with this, and she would if he didn’t let go.
“Only if you wanted it, of course. But I…”
Her hand fluttered momentarily to her stomach, before she pulled it away and shook her head, gulping down tears. “You can’t – I can’t raise a child without you, Draco. That’s madness.”
“Didn’t you just say Potter-”
“I don’t want to-”
“What about me? What about what I want, Hermione?”
His voice was soft, pleading; he never asked her for anything, so if he was willing to say this, she understood what it cost him.
Still, the idea of it made her insides freeze.
“Do you want to leave me alone with a baby, Draco? One who’ll remind me every day what I’ve lost?”
“No, I want to leave you with someone who will love you every day… like I do. Like I will.”
“This isn’t fair,” she complained, eyes starting to burn. “Why are you doing this?”
“I’m not – doing – anything. I’m telling you how I feel. Would you rather I didn't?”
“I would rather you let me out of here and we win this fucking war.”
“We might not, do you understand?”
He’d never said that aloud, and it terrified her. “Why not? He’s weak, Draco, and-”
“Right now, I’m one of three people in the Order who’s actually upright enough to fight.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “What do you mean? What’s happened?”
“We took a bad hit, my love. It wasn’t just me.”
“Is – who-”
“Nobody’s dead. Or dying. But all of us took that blast, and most people landed on things sharper than a concrete bollard.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Draco, why-”
“Because I wanted you to feel safe. I didn’t want you to worry more than you need to.”
“But…?”
“But LB told me that he’s seen more Death Eaters gathering near the Surrey safehouse – I went to find out more, the night before I got hurt. I saw Greyback.”
“Did he-”
“He knew I was there, but he didn’t say anything to me. He knows better than to piss off his Master’s,” he gritted his teeth furiously, “landlord.”
“How many?” She lifted her hand to his face, heart racing and the cold rush of panic descending as she realised this was serious. He leant down, placing a kiss on her cheek instead of her mouth.
“Too many.”
Hermione closed her eyes, remembering all too well the feeling of terror that followed Greyback – knowing Draco had been near him made her skin crawl.
He leaned his forehead on hers, and she felt something warm that turned cool as it moved down her cheek. His hand brushed it but she knew what it was – not because he cried often. In fact, she was sure in their whole time being together she’d only seen it twice.
The first time had been when they lost Luna and Blaise.
When the word had come about her parents, he’d cried with her – he’d apologised over and over as if it had been his fault. “I should have tried to get them back for you,” he’d said through a voice that was strained and wet, “I’m so sorry, Hermione.”
He’d spent the whole night running his hand over her hair as she laid stiff as a board, facedown in the pillows; she’d cried herself out three times over and still found more tears, somehow.
She fixed her gaze on him, watching his jaw flex and eyes move around like he wanted to look anywhere but in her eyes. “Why are you acting like it’s a done deal?” she asked with a frown. “Are they planning on coming here?”
“Not if I can help it, no. He’s been very resistant to leaving, but then barely allows me to get three steps in the door before he yells at me to get out and bring him good news.”
“And do you?”
“I tell him what we want him to believe, plus some truth to be safe.”
“Are we in danger?”
“Not yet.”
She closed her eyes, taking a long breath. “And if I… if there was a…”
“You’re safer than anyone, Hermione. You’d be safe. Even if I-”
She opened them, and his face was earnest, gaze now locked on her. “I haven’t let myself want this, Draco. Don’t… if you know you’re not going to be here, I can’t want it without you.”
She wanted desperately not to cry but it was too much, to speak about him like he was already a ghost while he was still right there, holding her to the bed with the warmth and weight of his body.
“I don’t want anything without you. I’ll…” A sob broke out of her, and then another.
She threw her arms around his shoulders and pulled him as close as she could get him. “I want us to be together, always – that’s what we,” she hiccuped, “said we wanted.”
“I’d always be with you, Hermione. I’ll haunt these halls forever.”
“You’re not dead!”
“And I don’t plan on being dead any time soon. But if you want to… if you’re willing, after everything – what I’ve done,” he looked down, then back to her, “take a part of me and make it ours. Just so then you know you still have me.”
“I love you,” she said, because he needed to know that it was never a question of willingness, that she’d known who she was falling in love with before she’d known it would turn out this way. “I love you because of who you are, not despite it.”
She felt his throat move and heard the sound of his wet swallow. “I’ve loved you every minute of every day since…” -he shook his head- “since I don’t know when. Long enough to know I need to give you everything I can, all that I have.”
“Promise me this isn’t some sort of – that you don’t know something you’re not telling me.”
“I only know I’m scared, and that I love you.”
“And?”
He hesitated for a moment, then he nodded. “And I always come back.”
She pulled his mouth against hers, rough – their teeth touched briefly and he let out a little surprised sound. “Do you really want this?”
“Do you?” For someone that had suggested the whole mad idea, he sounded unexpectedly tentative.
“I want you. I’ve never been allowed to want anything else.”
“So you-”
“What do you want? Forget the reason. What is it that you want, Draco?”
“I want to put a baby inside you,” he whispered. “I’ve always wanted it. Your body is already a miracle to me, Hermione, it’s only ever had things I cherish inside it.”
“Don’t be disgusting.”
He snorted, silently laughing against her mouth before tipping his head back to look at her. “I meant,” he said condescendingly, “your soul. Your mind. Your genius.”
“You meant,” she countered, biting his shoulder again, “your cock.”
“And that.”
“I know you.”
“You do. But also, darling, maybe one day… our child. Our children, if we’re lucky.”
“Well,” Hermione said, forehead against the hardness of his collarbone, “perhaps we should try.”
She laid back on the pillow, a finger tracing his jaw.
He smiled, soft at first, then widening as he saw she meant it – that she wasn’t looking away. “You’ll let me?”
“I’ll even ask you to, if you like.”
“Fuck. Yes, Godric, can you?”
“Draco,” she said, and then clearing her throat as her voice cracked on his name. “Sorry, let me try again.” Adopting a sweet, simpering tone, she fluttered her eyelashes. “Draco, my love,” she started – he tilted his head in annoyance.
“Don’t be nasty to me,” he pouted, “I thought you were serious.”
“I am serious. This is me being serious.”
“Horrid witch.”
She poked him, forgetting for a second he was injured.
“Ouch!” he said loudly, pulling his head back with a horrified expression. “Why-”
“Sorry, sorry!” she said, grimacing. “I forgot. See, awful at looking after things. This might be-”
“Don’t you dare pretend you’d be bad at it. You’d be wonderful.”
“So would you.”
“Hmm.”
She kissed him again, hard but not demanding. Insistent, proof of her desire and her love.
An idea came to her mind. “I, Hermione Granger-Malfoy,” she began, voice close to his ear, and she heard his quick intake of breath, “do take you, Draco Lucius Malfoy-”
“What the fuck are you-”
“Don’t interrupt!”
They both started laughing, and she scrunched her nose at him. “I take you to be the father of our children, you prat.”
His eyes were burning with everything he felt – love, fear – she knew hers were doing the same. He grinned at her, shaking his head as he let out a long, happy breath. “‘Til death us do part?”
“And after that, as well.”
Hermione was careful not to hurt him a second time as she grabbed at his hips, pulling him over her. Draco’s mouth found hers and she heard him whisper something.
“What, my love?”
“Please.”
She moved down, wriggling her body to be flat on the mattress, pillow above her head. “Get rid of tha-”
He’d already tossed it to the floor, his breath getting faster; he could clearly tell that this was something different. Not rushed, but the desire was overwhelming; she didn’t want to wait, or be tender, or act like this was the moment and they’d never get another.
“I need you, Draco,” she murmured, hips canting at the idea of him being inside her. She dragged in a breath as he pressed his mouth to her breast, moving across quickly to the nipple and pulling it into his mouth with a groan.
“These,” he said around the hardened peak, biting lightly then sucking, “are going to be even more incredible.”
“They – won’t – be… oh, fuck – yours anymore,” she whimpered. Draco pulled his mouth back, giving her a look of annoyance.
“I can share, Hermione.” They both paused for a moment, watching each other, but his mouth twitched and then a laugh escaped through her lips with a loud ‘pffft’ before he banged his forehead against her sternum as he shook with silent laughter.
“You’ve never had to share me in your life,” she said through laughter. “Literally had me all to yourself for years. Do you understand that?”
“Shut up,” he said petulantly, hands moving over her body like he was mapping her, making sure she was still there under his palms. “This is the only exception. I will keep you both safe, hoard you like a dragon, breathing fire at anyone who disturbs you while you grow our baby.”
He kissed her again, smiling softly. “While they feed from you, while you hold them and teach them and turn them into a beautiful, clever little person.”
“You’ll help, you pig,” she said with a shove to his shoulder. “No excuses. None.”
“Noted,” he said solemnly, and they shared a look that said what she would not verbalise.
Her body bucked at the light touch of his hand on her hip and she was suddenly aware, again, that something inside her was calling him.
It was as if her knowing it was allowed – to want – had opened a floodgate. Tingling skin, the ache within her core, the emptiness painfully obvious all at once.
“Inside me,” she pleaded, hands on his face as he started kissing downwards. “Can you – please… I can’t wait. I’m burning for you. Put your baby inside me.”
“Fucking hell, my love, you don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear that,” he said with a sharp intake of breath. He pushed up on his palms, kneeling as she spread her legs wide – he stared down between them like he’d never looked at her before.
She wanted to open her mouth and say something smart, goad him into action – his long, thick cock was so hard, she could tell – veins pulsing and shiny precum beading, about to drop.
“You really have,” she said in a low voice, unable to stop thinking or talking even for a minute, “the most beautiful cock in the world.”
“How – ngh – would you – mmph-” He swallowed, frowning as he tried to push in and she instantly clenched, her body reacting involuntarily.
Her quiet gasp wasn’t of pain, but of surprise – it felt electric, almost, to have him there. She kept watching, mouth open, as his hair fell in his eyes and his mouth flattened with frustration.
“My love, lay back, can you?” He had a firm grip around his cock, dragging his hand up once and then down, holding at the base. “Relax, Hermione.”
She laid back and tried to think about being relaxed. It really wasn’t that easy, and when she just needed it, needed him, she felt like it was suddenly all she could comprehend.
A baby. His baby. Their baby.
His face was in front of her when she opened her eyes – this was a problem they sometimes had when she’d been waiting by the window too long and her body became rigid with terror at the idea of him not returning.
She’d leap into his arms, tear his clothes from his body, asking ‘are you hurt?’ over and over as he reassured her no, he wasn’t – except when he was, but sometimes she’d realise after that he was lying and-
“Hermione Jean,” he said, watching her eyes. “This is why you let me kiss your cunt before I even think about putting my cock in it. Look at you. You feel like a rubber band pulled tight.”
She turned her head to him, taking in a shaky breath. “I want it too much, and now I can’t-”
“Shh, yes you can. Let me take care of you.”
“I don’t want-”
“What-” he said, and then paused, lifting his chin and looking down his perfect nose at her, eyebrows raised. He'd always had this method of interrupting and then waiting expectantly for her to stop having what she always called ‘a moment’ (and what he referred to as a ‘swot attack’), where her brain went into overdrive and then her body did the same.
She took a breath and returned the look he gave her - his mouth twitched.
“What do you want, darling girl. Tell me… what does my wife need me to do?”
“Kiss me until I forget to be scared,” she said, lip trembling. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down again as she felt the frisson of everything and nothing travel over her body. “Kiss me, kiss me,” she chanted, the words hot against his mouth.
He began to trail warm presses of his perfect, perfect lips over her neck and collarbone, murmuring assurances in between.
“Nothing to be scared of,” he said softly, almost cooing. “Nothing at all. I’m here, Hermione, I’m here and we’re going to make a baby.”
“What if-”
“Uh uh, no,” he chided with a tiny smile, stealing the rest of her doubtful words from her mouth with his own. “No what if, no thoughts, no worrying. I’m just here.”
“You are, aren’t you,” she said, feeling herself start to unfreeze. “You’re mine, Draco, and I’m yours. Please… please.”
“Of course, my girl, just wait,” he whispered, nodding. He teased himself against her entrance, and she breathed in and this time she could feel her lungs fill properly.
He continued his kisses, his whispered words reminding her that it was alright, everything was alright. “Nothing to worry about but letting me in.”
Draco never rushed her when she was like this – her feral assaults only told him one thing, and that was that she needed him. And he always gave her what she needed.
In the early days, after she'd been unable to resist sneaking into his bed, nothing could have stopped their bodies meeting over and over as they checked and rechecked that the world wouldn’t end if they fucked each other. Each time, with breath ragged and hair pulled and insults exchanged between orgasms, had been like a test.
Once they’d known it was more, it became proof of the ferocity of what was between them, and now he handled it like the most precious thing he had. Like a fire that only he could contain.
Tenderness she didn’t know he was capable of had come to the surface and he’d worshipped her, pleasured her, made her feel like she was the only other person in the world.
She felt the pressure and stretch then, and she smiled wantonly at him as his brow creased – his jaw was clenched and she could have mistaken his expression for anger because of how intense it was, except his eyes were closed and at the corner, the tiniest little sparkles of moisture.
He grunted quietly as he thrusted forward, left arm coming back up beside her head, and Hermione let out a loud sigh which turned into ‘oh, Draco’ as he paused, inside her to the hilt, his warm skin pressed firmly to hers.
He moved down onto his forearms, his fingers tangling in the loose curls that were spread around her head. “I love you, Hermione,” he whispered, eyes alight. “I love you more than I can say.”
Her hands found the hard bones of his hips, the firm planes of his toned, lean arse. She moved her hips to take him deeper, and pulled him against her – the sensation against her clit made her gasp and bite down.
She started to feel the twisting heat inside her, her walls gripping him – he frowned again, concentrating on letting her find the exact spot. “Mmhm,” she said quickly, as he thrust again, just a little, “right there. Right there, Draco, keep going.”
“My angel,” he moaned, and her eyes widened – he’d never called her that before, ever. “Fuck, you feel – Merlin, you’re so-”
“Draco, put your baby in me,” she panted, spikes of hot desire traveling through her as he started to hit against the spot inside while the friction on the outside made her feel like she could never get him close enough. “Put them all in me. All of them.”
She was babbling now and she knew it but she didn’t care – she loved that she could let go, let her brain just stop for a minute when he was inside her. It was impossible to imagine what life was like before she’d known the taste of him, the feeling of him filling her like this.
Their bodies fit together, had from the first time – somehow, this time felt like magic, not just love.
“Yes, yes,” he was saying, “yours, all yours.” He was so hard, throbbing inside her as he slowed for a moment, looking down again, watching her take him and holding his mouth closed while breathing hard through his nose. “Look at us. We’re – fuck, Hermione.”
She didn’t know if them wanting it this much would be enough but if it was, she knew there’d be no taking back what happened.
He started moving faster again, pressing his pelvis down so that they were touching exactly where she needed – the rush was building, and she could hear her breaths as she huffed them in and out with pleasure.
“I’m – Draco, I-” she whined, “yes, don’t stop, oh, please!”
Fingers digging into his back, she came – she held her breath as the wave of pleasure rolled over her, pulling him further inside her as her body tensed. “Fuck, Draco, ugh – yes – I love you, I love you,” she sobbed. He thrust harder, rhythm set by what he needed now.
His jaw was tightly locked, he couldn’t speak; the crease between his brow was coming and going as she watched him move above her.
“Come for me,” she said breathlessly, “come inside me – please – make a baby.”
He locked his eyes on hers, silver meeting the dark brown that she knew must have been darker still, his pupils huge – she felt like she could see inside him, hear his thoughts.
“I love you,” she repeated, “I want this, I want you, I want-” and then he let out a hiss, a groan, a ‘fuck’ that never fully left him. She felt him pulse, the heat changing as he came and filled her with him.
They kept moving; she clenched down to milk every last drop from him, and rocked her hips as he went rigid just as she had when he’d taken her over the edge.
With one final thrust, he let out a sound that was almost a whimper, like he’d never felt whatever was going through him, and then a final spasm – she felt him twitch inside her.
Moving her hands back down, she pulled him close so they stayed joined, kissing his shoulder and tasting the salty sheen she knew she was covered in, too; the heat was almost unbearable, but the idea of him moving was more so.
He dropped his head, putting their foreheads together gently – she smiled as she crossed her ankles behind his thighs and brought her hands to his face.
“You’re perfect,” he whispered, sniffing hard and then letting out a controlled breath, puffing air upwards and making the white blonde strands shift before settling again. “Don’t move.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Shall we play a game of Eye Spy?”
Hermione snorted with laughter. “You’re ridiculous.” She looked around, and then her eyes landed back on his face. “I spy with my little eye… something beginning with… D.”