GBanshee
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One moment, Draco was in the hospital wing with his chest split apart by both Potter’s curse and his now ever-present anxiety.
The next moment, he was in an alternate universe with Granger’s soft breast cupped in his hand.
Granger might be a fucking martyr, but Draco was never going back.
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In order to bring peace to a world ravaged by a power-hungry Albus Dumbledore, Severus and Hermione must conceive a child to fulfill yet another prophecy.
This short story is a lot smutty, a bit dark, and yet oddly sweet.
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Cleave verb
1. to divide as if by a cutting blow
2. to cling to a person or thing closely
Hermione has lived in the shadow of Lord Voldemort's world long enough.
She will do anything to end it.
Hermione despises Lucius Malfoy, but he might be the only hope for infiltrating the Dark Lord’s ranks and ending him for good.
When Malfoy Manor intervenes, she is reminded again and again of all the ways they are divided.
She should hate him even more.
But as they are forced to rely on each other, they start to come to an understanding.
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Hermione sobbed and desperately started groping behind her for a means of escape.
Please, Please, she thought I need…
She couldn’t articulate what she needed, exactly, but then a cool door knob materialized underneath her searching palms, so inconsistent with the all encompassing heat surrounding her.
Hermione turned the knob on instinct, and fell back hard against a grassy ground.
Only three living people came to mind when she considered who might be skilled enough to fend off Fiendfyre: McGonnigal, Flitwick, and Snape.
But, no, not Snape. She had stood up for him long enough. Never again.