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The energy of the crowd shook the Quidditch stadium as feet stomped, voices chanted, and announcers spoke over the din. A feeling that never faded, adrenaline pumped through Draco Malfoy’s veins, no matter how many times he prepared for a match. It always helped that the Falmouth Falcons’ fans were some of the best, always pushing him to improve every time he flew onto the pitch. While he appreciated all of his fans, there was only one person in the stands that he truly wanted to impress.
In the middle of a game, as his gaze darted around the sky in search of the golden snitch, Draco’s eyes unconsciously found her.
Always.
Whether she was wrapped in a scarf much too large for her frame or dressed in a delectable summer dress, her golden beauty caught his attention more than the snitch ever could. It was not only in the way her hair moved with the wind or how her nose and eyes crinkled delightfully in amusement. No, her beauty was like a powerful entity, exploding with the light of a thousand suns. It was powerful in the way her inherent goodness seeped out of her, wiggling its way into others by making them feel warm; seen; safe.
This woman, whose beauty could never be carved by anyone other than the Gods, was none other than Hermione Granger.
When their paths crossed three years after the war, Draco’s heart nearly fell out of his chest. There she was, sitting next to Ginevra—at the time Weasley— Potter and Scarhead himself. As Draco approached the crowded table full of his teammates, his mind jumped to all of the worst case scenarios. Having already spent many reluctant hours with Potter, they had created a hesitant truce. After a few months of this, Potter deemed them as mates.
Draco had never been too certain about that.
His reluctance was tested on a random night in November when Draco joined his teammates following a snowy, windy match from the depths of a frozen hellscape. As he made his way to the back of the pub, Hermione Granger sat in the corner with her two mates, and everything Draco believed to be true suddenly seemed like a farce.
Were Ginevra and Potter actually his mates?
Or was this all some sort of ploy to make him seem like an idiot, to humiliate him?
Did you really think you were forgiven, ferret? He imagined them saying.
Draco would never allow himself to cower based on hypotheticals. He was Draco bloody Malfoy, after all. So, he clasped his mental battle armour as he physically straightened his shirt and pulled back his shoulders.
What happened next left him brutally shocked.
Once he reached the table, Ginevra pulled him in for a hug and Potter stuck his hand out to shake. That was all normal. What was not normal was when Hermione Granger set her eyes on him, and then she smiled brightly, brilliantly.
The ruckus from the pub dimmed into nothing but muffled background noise.
His mouth dried up instantly.
When did it get so bloody hot in this pub? They must have three fires going instead of one.
When she stuck out her hand, Draco stared at her delicate fingers.
Words and actions evaded him. Apparently, the twenty-one years of pureblood training went out the window as he stood there, dumbly.
She tilted her head and stuck her hand out a touch further, and Draco remembered himself. Clearing his throat, he reached back and they touched for the first time.
Unlike the warmth from the fireplace, a different sort of heat hit him. But this time, it sparked from within.
What was this?
What was this feeling that erupted inside of him?
Her nose and eyes crinkled as she smiled at him, and Draco’s heart nearly beat out of his chest.
Draco joined the table, an odd combination of his teammates with their partners and friends. Normally, he would join in on the boisterous uproar of post-game chirping. To be rightfully expected, Draco enjoyed being a right prick as he boasted good-naturedly about his (many) accomplishments on the pitch. That night was different. On that night, he wanted to do none of that.
Instead, his mouth remained shut, and while Draco’s eyes wandered around the table, they always found a way to come back to her. There was a tug inside of him, willing him to be closer to her so that he could better hear the gentle cadence of her voice and the lightness of her laugh. But he remained in his seat, savouring each glimpse into her that he could get. Over and over again, he did the same thing, watching her, relishing every piece of her, as she joined them more over the years.
A sudden roar from the crowd above knocked Draco from his memory, plunging him back into the present. A hip bumped into him, forcing his gaze away as he finished wrapping his wrists with kinesio tape.
Ginevra Weasley, with her braided red hair and amused brown eyes, looked up at him. “Almost done with your pre-game routine?”
Draco snorted, reaching down to grab his leather forearm pads. “Almost.”
“Don’t forget to put the right one on first.”
Draco rolled his eyes and did just that. He was a creature of habit, particularly before a game. He had his rituals, things he had to do a certain number of times and in a particular order. He wasn’t the only one, though. Most athletes had their thing.
One night at the pub, Ginevra told Potter and Granger about this little tid bit of information. Draco wanted to throttle his teammate, but when Granger rested her hand on his forearm and jumped to his defense as others gave him shit… Well, it ended up being worth it.
With the final leather piece strapped, Draco grabbed his broom, magic soaring through his veins at the connection, and made his way toward the pitch. Once he and his teammates mounted their brooms, they took off into the brightly lit stadium. The crowd erupted in cheers, but all he cared about was the voice of one person in particular.
Hermione Granger.
***
“Look who it is!” McNulty shouted over the voices in the pub. Saluting his ale, he yelled, “Draco Malfoy! The youngest Seeker to set the record for quickest catch of the snitch in a match!”
The patrons in the pub cheered, whistled, and slammed their fists on the tables in celebration. Draco lifted his hands in the air, nodding his head sagely. With the pretense of receiving handshakes with those in the pub, Draco’s eyes darted across the faces as he searched for her.
There.
In the corner.
Draco quickly grabbed an ale–on the house, of course–and made his way toward Granger. Deep in conversation, she gesticulated her hands wildly, nearly hitting McLaggan in the face.
Draco beamed in pride.
McLaggan was the only teammate Draco actually hated, but he wasn’t the only one who shared this sentiment. Everyone merely tolerated his presence because, regardless of what they thought about his personality, McLaggan was a bloody good keeper.
Draco sat in the blessedly empty seat next to Granger, “accidentally” bumping his knee into her leg as he squeezed into the crowded space.
Right on cue, she turned to face him, cheeks ablaze in whatever righteous, judicial tirade she was on about.
“Tell him, Malfoy,” she said, huffing a curl of hair out of her face.
Oh, how he loved seeing her all riled up.
He lifted an eyebrow and took a sip of the cold ale. “Tell McLaggan what, exactly?”
She lifted her hands in exasperation. “That there should be more safety precautions and regulations in Quidditch.”
Draco actually disagreed with her here, but he wasn’t about to agree with McLaggan. His stomach nearly revolted at the thought.
“You’re right, love,” he said, cherishing the intimate term on his tongue. As always, her lips pinched a little tighter and she held his gaze for a second longer before looking back at McLaggan.
“Working in the memory and traumatic brain injury unit in St. Mungo’s, you would think that I would see more injuries from memory loss charms or Aurors in the DMLE. But no, I see more Quidditch accidents than anything else.”
“And they are typically amateurs who don’t know what they are doing,” McLaggan countered. “They are all merely peasants riding a broom and believing them to be athletes.”
“Not always,” Hermione muttered into her glass.
“Really? Then who?” McLaggan pushed, leaning forward on his elbows.
Draco’s grip tightened on his glass as the wizard inched closer to his witch.
Well, not his witch, per se.
Actually, yes, his witch, even if she wasn’t aware of it.
He had been hers for one thousand and ninety-five days after all.
Granger rolled her eyes beautifully. “You know I can’t tell you that. Patient confidentiality.”
“But if it gives us an edge in the game…” McLaggan pressed but then paused, surely before he was about to say something stupid.
Blessed by all of the Gods, another one of his teammates called for the prick. McLaggen sauntered off in an attempt at swagger, leaving Draco and Granger alone. When he noticed that her glass was nearly empty, Draco gestured toward the waitress, requesting for another.
“I can get my own drink, you know,” Granger said.
“I know, but that doesn’t mean you should.”
“And why is that?”
“Because then I won’t be able to get it for you.”
Her brows furrowed. “Why would you want to give me anything at all?”
He shrugged. He’d actually like to give her a whole lot more than an ale, but it’s all he could do… for now.
“Where were you at the start of the match?” He asked instead.
Granger leaned back in her chair, settling in now that McLaggan left. Pride filled him knowing that she could let herself relax around him.
“At St. Mungo’s.”
“Is everything alright?”
She stretched her neck from side to side. “Yeah. Just a long shift.”
When Granger made a face, Draco pushed her curls off of her shoulder, letting them fall down her back. She froze, and so did he. He wasn’t sure what overcame him at that moment. All he knew was that she seemed to be in pain, and he wanted to take it away from her.
“Turn around,” he said, pulse racing.
Granger turned slowly in her seat, her back facing him. The lines of her beautiful neck came into view when she pulled the rest of her hair over her shoulder. Draco gently rested one hand on her arm, hair tickling his wrist, and placed his other hand at the junction of her neck and shoulder.
“Here?” He asked, pressing lightly on her soft skin.
“Uh, no. A little higher.”
Draco dragged his finger slowly, tenderly, up the column of her neck. Drunk on the feeling of her, he relished in this novelty. He had never touched her like this before.
“There,” she said quietly, but he still heard her. Draco swore he could hear her voice from anywhere, no matter how loud or soft.
Draco began methodically rubbing the area with his thumb, applying enough pressure to loosen the knot but not too hard where it would mar her skin. Gooseflesh erupted where she was exposed.
Was it from his touch?
Or was it from addressing the knot in her neck?
It didn’t matter either way. Draco lost himself in the feel of her skin and the flutter of her pulse on her neck.
What he wouldn’t do to replace his lips with his thumb and hands.
What would she taste like?
Would she be warm, soft? A little sweet?
Would she like it if he bit her? Just a little?
Maybe she would prefer him to use his tongue to write his name on her skin.
Her hand on his stopped these musings. As Granger glanced over her shoulder, still touching him, their eyes met for a moment, and Draco’s stomach flipped.
Quickly, Granger released her hand and turned in her seat as she adjusted her hair again.
“Thank you,” she said breathlessly. Granger tested his work by stretching her neck. “It feels much better.”
“Anytime,” Draco answered distractedly, lost in the deluge of emotions that quickly overwhelmed him.
Soon after, Potter and Ginevra joined them, and Draco returned to studying the greatest woman he had the privilege of ever knowing.
***
Bludgers flew around the pitch at alarming speeds. The riotous crowd screamed and chanted as the Falmouth Falcons battled against their rivals, the Chudley Cannons. Several fights had broken out in the crowd, resulting in these passionate fans being ejected from the match. On the field, it wasn’t much better, even though a fight hadn’t broken out… yet.
The tension was palpable, and the players threw every ounce of aggression into each play and point of contact.
Draco’s eyes darted around, desperate to find the damned snitch so that he could put an end to this madness before someone got hurt. As he searched, his gaze inevitably lingered on Granger’s small form in the crowd, switching between speaking with Potter and reading the book in her lap.
Drove him mad when he saw her reading at his games. Not that she was reading—no, he loved that—but that she could so easily ignore Draco’s presence on the pitch, especially when he looked this good.
When Granger just so happened to glance up at him, he leaned forward, flexing his thighs on the broom.
According to Witch Weekly, Draco Malfoy was not only the hottest eligible bachelor, but his “broom thighs” were apparently delectable, basically a treat for the fans. Ever since learning about “broom thighs,” Draco may or may not have been using this knowledge to his advantage.
He could hear other witches swoon in the crowd, but he could have cared less about them. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to have the same effect on the one woman that he wanted it to.
Still, he tried in the event that one day it changed.
Draco flew to the other side of the pitch once the path cleared so that he could pass by Granger. Flying in front of the stands, Draco looked over and winked when Granger caught his gaze. He couldn’t see her reaction, but he hoped she was blushing.
Showing off a bit, he barrel-rolled as soon as he winked. Cameras flashed and clicked nearby.
Wind blew through his hair and across his skin, cooling him from the heat of the sun as he flew in an upwards spiral. Reaching the height of the tallest stands, Draco paused, searching for the snitch. From this vantage point, he watched a small skirmish breaking out between his teammate, Wells, and an opponent. The referee blew the whistle, breaking them apart and issuing a warning to both players.
The match resumed, but the tension in the crowd and on the pitch grew in intensity.
Where was the bloody snitch?
Soaring across the field, he searched for the shimmer of gold, but still, he could not find it.
Glancing toward Granger once more, he saw her standing, navigating the packed stands as she walked toward the stairs.
Where was she going?
No, she needed to see him win the match!
Without looking, Draco leaned forward and flew toward the stands.
“Has Malfoy caught sight of the snitch?” An announcer’s voice boomed.
The voices shifted in the crowd, and suddenly, the other team’s seeker was flying quickly toward him. At the sound of his name, Granger stopped in her tracks and turned around.
Draco smirked, looking at her, still flying.
“Malfoy!” Ginevra shouted. “Look out!”
Draco turned, but not quickly enough to see the bludger flying directly at him. Pain erupted in his arm, the impact knocking him loose. Draco felt himself freefall as the crowd screamed and the world faded into black.
***
Hurt.
Everything hurt.
Wait… there’s some relief.
Blink.
Oh, bloody hell. No. Still hurt.
“Have you run the diagnostic charm to ensure that there is no internal bleeding?” A voice sounded nearby.
Draco tried to turn his head toward the precious sound, but he couldn’t move.
“Miss, we already told you that we ran all of the necessary tests.”
“You shouldn’t even be back here,” another voice said.
Soft hands brushed his hair off of his forehead.
“Run his vitals again,” this beautiful voice requested. No, demanded.
A heavy sigh nearby.
“Just do it,” another muttered quietly.
Golden warmth shimmered through his body. It was foreign. Not like the heat he felt when he was with her.
“Why isn’t he waking up?” This voice asked with a hint of exasperation. “How much did you give him?”
“He will wake up soon.”
Draco could feel her worrying. He didn’t want her to worry. He needed to wake up.
Blink.
Bloody hell the lights were bright.
Blink.
“Malfoy?” The voice asked sweetly.
He turned, eyes clearing to see the most beautiful sight.
“Granger,” he mumbled, his mouth not quite working properly.
Her hands found his hair again, pushing back the strands lightly. “How are you feeling?”
Better, now that you’re here, he thought.
“I’m not sure,” he said.
As her worried face stepped in front of the bright lights, he squinted, fighting through his spotty vision.
“Turn down the lights, please,” Granger said without taking her eyes off of him, studying with so much care. “Are you in any pain?”
“Only a bit.”
“Where?”
“My shoulder.”
Granger nodded. “Your shoulder was dislocated, so the muscles and ligaments will be sore. How’s your neck?”
He moved it slightly then winced. “Just tight.”
“No neck or head pain?”
He shook his head again, slowly.
“Good, good. That’s good.” Granger exhaled a breath. “Now, what the hell were you thinking?”
This sudden change threw Draco for a loop. “What do you mean?” His brain was still catching up with his body.
“Why in all of the worlds were you not looking out for your surroundings?”
“I was looking at my surroundings.”
He had been looking at her, after all.
She sputtered. “The surroundings that matter, like other players and, I don’t know, a bloody bludger! You could have been seriously injured. This is why I was telling McLaggan that there needs to be better med—”
Draco lifted his good arm, placing his hand over hers. She paused, taking a breath.
He smiled crookedly. “Granger, were you worried about me?”
“Well, yes, of course I was. I always worry for my friends.”
His heart sank a bit, but he wasn’t going to accept the defeat. “Friends, hm?”
“Yes… aren’t we?”
Draco could think of far worse places to begin a relationship.
Friendship.
Yeah, he could work with that.
“As your friend, then, why don’t you tell me what book kept your attention while your friend played in a Quidditch game?”
She blushed exquisitely. “Jane Eyre.”
“Who’s that?”
Granger bit her lip as she suppressed a smile. “A character in a Muggle book.”
“She must be pretty important for you to forget about your friend.”
Lightly tapping his leg, she smiled brilliantly. “I didn’t forget about you.”
“Good,” he said quietly, intimately. “I never want you to.”
What bloody potions did they give him for that to pour out of his mouth?!
Her face morphed into shock and then she blinked, another round of glorious blush painting the skin of her neck and cheeks a deep rose.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.
My Gods, mate.
“Malfoy, stop,” she said, smiling bashfully.
“What?”
“It’s just the potions.”
“And what if it’s not?”
His mouth really wouldn’t stop.
Shock enveloped her features again. Biting her lip, Draco only had one thought: You wildly beautiful temptress.
The team’s healers went through several rounds of tests, ensuring that there were no other pressing injuries. When they determined that it was only his shoulder, they released him from the training room. Unfortunately, he was on medical leave for two weeks so that his shoulder healed properly.
Draco and Granger walked quietly out of the training room and down the long halls, their steps echoing in the now silent stadium.
“Are you going to the pub?” He asked.
She blinked as if his words pulled her out of her thoughts. Looking up at him, she shook her head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I figured you might need help getting home.”
Draco gestured toward the sling. “Only one arm isn’t functioning properly.”
“But what about all of your things?”
He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. “We are not allowed to speak of it, but I’ve come to trust you.”
Her eyes widened.
“I have a wand. I’m a wizard, Granger.”
She rolled her eyes and huffed a laugh. “If you don’t want my help, then…”
He grasped ahold of her arm. “Now, I never said that…”
“So, you want my help then?”
Normally, Draco would never weaken himself in front of his witch, but an opportunity quickly arose, and Draco was nothing if not an opportunist.
“Absolutely,” Draco said with an eager smile. “Will you help me Floo some of my things to my place?”
When the green flames disappeared, Granger stepped inside of Draco’s home for the first time. Her eyes darted around, cataloguing everything from the dark wood furniture to the many windows.
“Is this what you expected?”
She glanced over her shoulder after placing his bag on a nearby table. “More or less.”
Draco set his broom off to the side. “Can I show you something?”
Granger looked at him hesitantly and then nodded. As she followed him down the hallway, Draco glanced back every few seconds to see her inspecting every room they passed. So studious and curious was she.
Approaching a set of French doors, he pushed them open, displaying his home library. Three walls lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves housed some of his favourite books.
Granger gasped as she stepped in behind him.
Mouth agape, eyes alight, Draco’s chest warmed from her delight.
“This is beautiful,” she whispered.
“Yeah, it is.” But he wasn’t looking at the library.
Flicking his wand, the candles lit around the room. Another flick and the wood in the minimalist fireplace sparked to life. Draco walked toward the wall of glass windows that overlooked the rugged fell mountains of the Lake District in northwestern England. The glow of fire mixed with the setting sun painted the room in hues of gold, pink, and purple.
Under the warmth of the golden light, Draco realized that Granger was always meant to be seen like this—unguarded and affectionate as her gaze danced across the bookshelves, smiling softly to herself in pleasure.
I could give you so much more than this, Granger. Maybe one day you will let me.
“Which one is your favourite?” She asked without turning her head.
He stepped up next to her, their shoulders brushing. Her warmth seeped out to root inside of him, making a home in his heart.
“The Count of Monte Cristo.”
Whipping her head away from the bookshelves, she looked up at him, eyes flickering in wonderment.
There’s still so much to learn about me, love.
“Is Jane Eyre your favourite?”
“Yes,” she answered quickly. “You read Muggle literature?”
Draco summoned The Count of Monte Cristo and placed it in her hands. “I’ve been exploring over the years.”
“Since when?” She asked, looking down at the title almost reverently.
Since you.
“A few years, I’d say,” Draco answered instead. “How about this? How about you take The Count of Monte Cristo and I take your Jane Eyre. We each read the books and then we meet to chat over coffee?”
Her eyes twinkled in the firelight. “Really?”
“Yeah, why not?” He shrugged and then winced when his bad shoulder caught. “Besides, I have two weeks of medical leave. What else am I supposed to do?”
Her eyes glanced at the sling on his arm and then back up to his face. “A lot of other things, probably. Wouldn’t you want to spend time with your friends and family?”
“You are my friend. Aren’t you?”
I’d like for you to also be my family, Granger.
Tucking a curl behind her ear, she looked up at him with a hint of embarrassment. “Yes, I am.”
“Then it’s settled. When do you want to meet?”
She shrugged. “Three or four days from now?”
“Granger, that book is over one thousand pages.”
She lifted a brow. “Don’t underestimate me, Malfoy.”
He leaned in, smiling crookedly. “I’d never dream of it, Granger.”
***
What surprised Draco the most about Jane Eyre was not only the themes of class and gender or love and autonomy, but the anecdotal remarks made in the margins. Draco studied her words just as much as he studied what had been written by Charlotte Brontë. He’d expect nothing less than Granger’s meticulous and introspective thoughts, but it brought him closer to her in a way that he hadn’t been expecting.
One could speculate that Granger’s view of Jane Eyre suggested that she believed in a love based on equality, that moved beyond class and social standing. None of that was surprising. It was just different from the environment he had been raised in. Draco left most of his pureblood upbringing behind, but just because he left that world, it didn’t mean those beliefs wouldn’t crop up from time-to-time. In those moments, he had to challenge himself as he decided whether he truly believed in them or whether it was just a residual effect of what he had been taught.
Did Granger realize that he would defy social standing and class to be with her? That he already had?
If she didn’t, then he needed to make it abundantly clear. Draco got to cracking on, pouring himself another cup of tea as he read feverishly and reverently about the words that his love loved.
***
As Draco finished buttoning his shirt, with the help of his wand, he looked down at the parchment with the scribblings of the now familiar handwriting. Draco inhaled a cleansing breath, grabbed Jane Eyre, and made his way toward the Apparition point on his property.
Landing in the alleyway of a quaint neighborhood in Muggle London, Draco followed the directions on the piece of parchment until he found his destination. Unsurprisingly, her directions were precise and damn near accurate, even down to the number of steps.
The bell chimed overhead when he stepped into the airy coffee shop.
In the corner sat Granger with two cups of coffee in front of her. Hair pulled on top of her head, Draco wanted to pull out the wand that held the curly mass in place so his eyes could luxuriate in the gloriously voluminous mane. Oh, how he wanted to get lost in those soft curly strands for the rest of his life.
Maybe he can.
One day.
And then, maybe he can devour other parts of her, like feasting upon her while she sat on his face.
Crossing the room, Draco smirked, pulse soaring as she looked up at him and smiled bashfully.
“Granger,” he said, taking a seat.
“Malfoy.”
“How’d you know that I would like an espresso?”
“You just seem like the type,” she said coyly.
“Oh, really? The type?”
“Yes, all posh and poised, but also no-nonsense.”
“Yeah? Keep going.” He smiled, tilting his head.
Granger rolled her eyes humorously. “Get off of your high horse.”
Draco reached for the cup of espresso. “I’ve never been known to do such a thing.”
She looked at him seriously. “I’d beg to differ.”
A stone dropped in his stomach. They had talked about the war when they were reacquainted three years ago. Were they to discuss it again?
Granger cleared her throat. “And what does my choice of coffee say about me?”
Draco leaned forward, inspecting her latte. “You are a comforting, reliable, and selfless person.”
She blinked at him. “Oh… I wouldn’t say—”
“Learn to take a compliment, Granger.” Draco took a sip.
Ah, perfect.
Salazar, his witch.
“I have been working on that… learning how to take a compliment.”
“Yeah?”
She nodded.
Might as well double down from the word vomit that poured out of him a few days ago. “Let’s practice, then.”
Her brows scrunched.
“You are a beautiful, wonderful woman who is incredibly kind, courageous, and brave. Every single person who you come across should count their lucky fucking stars because that means they were blessed by the Gods to be in your presence. You’ve made so many people better by just being you.”
Her gaze grew open and vulnerable, even uncomfortable, as each word landed with precision. Draco smiled softly, only in a way that he ever directed toward her.
“How hard are you fighting yourself right now?”
She fidgeted in her seat. “With everything I have.”
“Now, accept the compliment. Don’t offer me any stupid excuses as to why it’s not true.”
Granger huffed a laugh and took a deep breath. “Thank you, Malfoy.”
“Good job, love.” He winked at her when she blushed. “Now, let’s get on with our chat, yeah?”
They spoke for hours. What they liked. What they didn’t like. What challenged them. What spoke to them. They asked each other questions, insight into their thoughts and emotions. When one disagreed, there was never a push to be right. Instead, there was a push to understand the other, to learn how each of their brains ticked.
Hermione Granger was brilliant—Draco already knew this—but to share her intellect in a stimulating conversation was something else entirely. He felt exhilarated.
When afternoon shifted into evening, Draco didn’t want the night to end, so he stood from his chair and extended the hand of his healthy arm.
“Care for something to eat, Granger?”
Looking up at him, she paused for a moment, then smiled and grabbed ahold of his hand. When she stood, they didn’t let go.
Draco led her through the coffee shop and out into the streets of Muggle London. When Granger asked him what he wanted to eat, he said, “Take me to your favourite spot.” So, she did.
Leading him through Granger’s neighborhood, she pointed out the park that she enjoys and the bookshop that she frequents. They even passed by an older gentleman with large glasses and some sort of Muggle hat. They were friendly with one another, and on a first name basis. Unsurprisingly, this man seemed positively smitten with her.
Draco wasn’t threatened, though, given that the man walked hunched over with a cane and seemed to be a hundred years old.
Absolutely no competition there.
With everything they passed, Granger had a small tale to tell. And with it, his admiration grew as she offered more glimpses into her life.
As they meandered, their hands remained intertwined. Not tight, but not loose. The pressure of her hand in his made him wonder if she communicated the same thing he intended: I am not going anywhere.
As they ate samosas and curry, their conversation continued, following down a sturdy path that further solidified that Hermione Granger was the love of his life. When she had a little curry in the corner of her mouth, Draco resolutely reached across the table to wipe it off with his thumb.
He licked the delectable flavors from his skin.
Slowly.
While holding eye contact.
Because, of course.
Granger nearly dropped her fork.
After the meal, they were still not ready to part, so they ventured toward the park that Granger had shown him earlier. With the sun nearly set, the moon began to rise and a few stars winked to life.
As they strolled along, slowly, leisurely, with gravel crunching underneath their shoes, Draco’s heart began to race. Unable to hold in the feelings he had held close to his chest for nearly three years, he pulled her to a stop.
Granger looked up at him.
So beautiful. So tender.
“Granger?”
“Yeah?” She seemed nervous, uncertain.
Salazar, he was surely about to have a heart attack.
“I don’t want to be friends.”
Her brows furrowed. “What?”
“I mean,” he said in a rush. “I don’t want to only be friends. I want you. All of you. In every single capacity. Friend. Partner. I… I have been in love with you for years. You astound me in every way. I… I want more. So much more. And I promise that I can give you all of me, too. I want to cherish you and to love you and to put everything I have into you.”
The pace of her breathing changed. Under the moonlight, tears began to glisten.
Oh, fuck.
He mucked up the whole thing. Quickly, he sought for words that could make it better, but then he realized that he didn’t want to. He wanted her to know. Resolved in this choice, Draco took a deep breath.
“I understand if you don’t feel the same way, but—”
“Draco.”
At the sound of his name so sweetly spoken on her lips, he paused, waiting to hear what the future held.
“I…,” she smiled and huffed a breath as she choked over her words. “I love you, too.”
Draco’s heart soared like a leaf caught on the wind. “You love me.”
Hermione nodded, smiling through the tears of happiness. “So much. I—”
He couldn’t wait a second longer. Draco pulled her in, eagerly fighting through the pain in his shoulder, as he cradled his hands against her face. Their lips met, and they became one. Her lips, her tongue, her skin, all of her were soft and precious. Granger’s fingers wound their way into his hair, pulling him closer. His tongue teased the edge of her lips, and she opened her mouth, allowing them to explore one another more intimately.
A groan pulled out of her, and Draco’s knees buckled under the effects of such a beautifully tantalizing sound.
He pulled back, resting his forehead against hers as his fingers traced her lower back. “I love you, Hermione. So much.”
“I love you, too,” she said, smiling against his lips as they met again.
***
One year later, the Falmouth Falcons and Chudley Cannons met again on the pitch. Unlike last year, Draco no longer scanned the crowd to see if his witch’s eyes were on him. They would be, of this he was certain. So he flew across the field, zipping and turning and barrel rolling in search of the golden snitch. The sooner the game was over, the sooner that Draco could step into the next phase of his life.
However, that wasn’t going to stop Draco from showing off just a bit. As he flew past the stands where Hermione sat cheering him on, Draco flexed his broom thighs and shot her wink. Even though she rolled her eyes, he knew for a fact that she liked how chiseled his legs looked in Quidditch gear.
Actually, liked was too small of a word.
The first time that Hermione straddled his lap as she rode him to filth, she had held onto his thighs to support her. Her enthusiasm only furthered his ego. When they laid in bed afterward, Draco looked at her in the dimly lit room and smiled the most prattish smile he could muster.
“Broom thighs, huh?”
Hermione covered her face and laughed embarrassedly. Then, she threw herself over his lap, straddling him once again, and showed him just how much she enjoyed those broom thighs.
Broom thighs.
What a blessed thing that ended up being.
Now, three hours into the match, Draco feverishly searched for the bloody snitch. When the golden glint caught the sun, Draco took off, but not without the other seeker noticing. It was a battle to the snitch. The crowd was on their feet, shouting and screaming. Everything around Draco grew silent as he honed into the need, the desire, to win this game. He and the other seeker bumped shoulders, moving forward and backward. When the snitch took a sudden turn, Draco quickly barrel rolled underneath the other seeker then pivoted and was on his way.
Three metres, two metres, one metre… he caught the blasted thing!
The stadium erupted, and Draco looked up at his witch, his love, and, hopefully tonight, his fiancé. They smiled adoringly at one another, both alighting in their happiness. But they were smiling for very different reasons.
She smiled because Draco had caught the snitch.
Draco smiled because it had been one year since the bloody bludger knocked him off of the broom. His stupidity had never been so rewarding. If it hadn’t been for the way he studied Hermione Granger, then he would have never fallen off, and she would have never come to the training room.
And it all started well before that, in a small pub four years ago. A string of so many moments blossomed into a friendship, and, eventually, it turned into so much more.
And Salazar, did he love her.
So, he looked up at her, smiling with a racing heart.
His witch. His fiancé. His wife. The mother of his children. The grandmother of his grandchildren.
What a life they will lead.
What a life full of joy and love and friendship.
What a life that he didn’t deserve but was grateful for every single day.
And what a beautiful life it was.