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“Malfoy,” she hissed, her breath warm and her voice cold all at the same time. “Get off of me.”

Draco’s eyebrows furled drowsily. Peeking an eye open, he could vaguely see the blurry outline of Hermione pinned beneath him, his arms tightly linked around her. Under his hands lay the soft skin of her midsection, the heat so warm it was almost uncomfortable. Grunting dismissively, he rolled off of her and withdrew his arms. 

“You don’t have to act so disgusted, you know,” he chastised, his voice dry. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Speak for yourself,” she said haughtily. “You hate this as much as I do.” Slipping on her silk housecoat, she pulled herself from the bed.

Draco shifted uncomfortably as desire seeped into his stomach at the sight of her. He could almost hear his father’s voice in his ears telling him to toughen up, to get his head out of his arse and remember his place as the head of the family. 

“Will you be out long?” he asked, forcing himself up and toward his dresser instead of toward her and her soft, too-warm body. Hermione, back still turned, rolled her shoulders and made a dismissive noise. Draco rolled his eyes. “You can’t just disappear for another week. As much as you loathe to admit it, you’re still my wife—”

“Mate,” Hermione interrupted, whipping around to face him. Her eyes were still red from the long hours at work, and the tension in her shoulders made his own feel stiff and uncomfortable. “You are not my husband.”

Draco, wound tightly and annoyed, thrust a foot roughly through a trouser leg. “Remind me again,” he mused, venom on his tongue. “I’ll gladly have my solicitors come back to try to weasel us out of these ridiculous, shite laws for the hundredth time.”

Hermione huffed and forced her arms through the sleeves of a dark blouse that accentuated her curves and Draco once again had to turn from her. Get a grip, he told himself, a familiar territorial feeling creeping back into his mind. It was only because of her heat, he reminded himself firmly. 

So close and they were still no better than the first time it hit them.

Glancing back at her as she jumped into a knee-length pencil skirt, he could smell her pheromones climbing higher and higher with every second. It thickened the air around them until it was uncomfortable to breathe, and Draco forced himself to continue on like everything was normal. Like everything was fine. 

“Should you even be going in at all?” he asked, his voice dangerously close to sounding like he gave a shit. Grimacing, he cleared his throat and continued. “You’ll have every Alpha trying to follow you into your office or the loo or—”

“I’m already claimed,” she spat through gritted teeth. “Your stench on me from last night alone will keep anyone from closing in.”

Draco laughed. “My stench?” He turned to her fully, buttoning up his shirt. “Don’t forget, Granger, this stench is the only reason we’re in this mess. You can’t get enough, and—”

“I’m an Omega!” she shouted, and Draco curled his lip at the familiar argument. 

“Are you really? I’m shocked,” he drawled, buttoning his wrists. “You should have told me before your first heat so I could stay as far away from you as possible.” Flicking his eyes up to watch her, he could feel the flush on her face. It pulsed around him, echoing off the walls of their large bedroom. Biting his tongue, Draco let his eyelids flutter as her frustration mounted, her scent dripping from her with every angry, self-righteous thought she had. 

“Like I knew what was even happening,” she retorted, a thick plume of her fragrance wafting over him as she stood up straight, the skin on her chest turning red. Her fingers absently scratched, and Draco’s mouth wet at the reminder of how uncomfortable she was… at how comfortable he could make her if— 

Get a grip, he reminded himself sternly. She’d be gone to work in a moment. 

And then you’ll spend the day waiting for her to get back home.

Balling his fists, Draco pinched the tender skin inside his wrist. 

“Why aren’t you putting on your uniform?” she asked, her tone sharp. Glancing up, Draco could sense curiosity in her voice, something she rarely showed to him. Almost as if he’d become a puppy overnight, his face flushed. 

“I thought I’d stay,” he said slowly. “You’re so close and—”

“And what?” she pushed back. “It’s not like I’m fatally ill and need some chummy hand-holding.”

“Look,” he mustered, annoyed. “I hate you as much as the next sane guy, but we’ve been through enough of these to know that neither of us should be trying to go to work.”

“It’s not just work, Malfoy,” she hissed. “What I do makes a difference. There are people who need me, who need—”

“—who need you to be sane.”

“—who need me to do my job.”

Draco paused. He knew he didn’t want to push her. She’d just push back, and he wasn’t interested in a fight. What he was interested in was fucking her raw and get a fucking grip, Draco, what the fuck.

Standing up straight, Draco mustered an exasperated groan, trying to stifle his breathing to not smell her. “Last time your heat started at work I had to come pick you up off the floor.” Hermione’s eyes flicked down to his hands as he fed the tip of his belt through his trousers. “If Harry hadn’t called me, I don’t even want to think about what might have happened.”

Hermione bit her lip. “That was fun though, wasn’t it?”  Draco’s eyes snapped up to meet hers, and the flush on her chest spotted her arms as well. Taking a step toward him, she put a gentle finger against his belt. “Everyone knew what we were doing in there,” she whispered. “Everyone knew what you were doing to me...”

Draco’s breath caught in his throat. “Granger—”

“I thought you said we were married. I’m Granger now?”

“Fuck, your moods change fast.”

Hermione shrugged, stepping back. “I still hate you,” she told him. “I still think you’re a selfish spoiled git with a wicked tongue and you grind your teeth at night despite my parents giving you a perfectly good retainer free of charge—”

“Like I’m going to let your parents give me a free retainer,” Draco argued, ignoring how she leaned against her dresser. “I have the money to pay for it, why let them take pity on me?”

“It’s not pity,” Hermione groaned, dipping her head back against the wall. “It’s their job, and they’re just generally kind people.”

“And why are you telling them that I grind my teeth at all? Do you think I tell my mum about how you destroy every toothbrush in a matter of weeks? No, I tell her that you’re busy at work, which, by the way, is getting old if we’re getting serious here. 

“You need to call her back. It isn’t her fault you were raised without knowledge of your designation. So what if she’s excited about potential grandchildren! Do you not want any future kids to be adored and wanted by their own bloody family?” 

Draco instantly shut his mouth. 

For the first time in over two years, he had been the one to bring up children. He knew it was terribly frustrating for Hermione, he knew it was what the Omega in her craved each heat, but Hermione the witch seethed at the desire. She hated wanting it from him, wanting it at all. She made it explicitly clear to him that until she was ready, they would not discuss parenthood. However furious she made him, it was one of their absolutes.

Hermione’s hair wired as the words fell from his mouth. The moment the words left his lips, her face fell and a deep cloud passed over her features. 

“You have no right,” she said gravely. “I never wanted kids before you. Do you know what it feels like to want that now? And to want that with you?” Her eyes watered as she looked at him, but there was a strength to her voice that chilled Draco’s blood. “I’m living my worst nightmare every single day.”

Draco breath caught in his throat. “Really then, so I’m your worst nightmare?” he drawled, immediately regretting the tone of his response.

“As if you could be worth the title,” she taunted, her voice sharp. “In the grand scheme of things I am afraid of, you are only a symptom. You are only a punishment.”

Setting his jaw, she raised her face to him in defiance. Her breath ghosted his face, reminding him just how very in heat she was. Their lips were so close, if he just bent a bit lower...

Draco took a deep breath to try to steady himself, drawing a moment of silence between the two of them before he responded. “Are you scared of wanting to have children with me or are you scared of wanting children at all?”

Hermione winced at his words. “Please,” she laughed. “We hate each other. What kind of parents would we be together? What kind of childhood could we give them? They’d hate us for hating each other. It isn’t fair.”

Draco paused for a moment to consider his words. “If we hate each other, we realize we love them more,” he said slowly. “We call a truce and we do our best.”

Hermione’s brows arched. “You’re serious?” she asked, bemused. “You want that?”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t not want it. Besides,” he looked down. “It’s not like we have to hate each other forever or anything."

She squinted at him skeptically. “What would your father think?”

He sneered at the mention of his father. “He’s dead.”

“He openly told you to kill me,” she laughed, unconvinced.

“Like I said,” Draco told her again. “He’s dead now.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “And you’re willing to disgrace the Malfoy name by siring a child with a Muggleborn all of a sudden?”

Pinching his lips together, Draco took a step toward her. “I’ve been disgracing the Malfoy name every night for the past few years,” he relinquished. “It’s like you said. Everyone already knows what we’re doing to each other behind closed doors.” 

At the mention of that, her breathing hitched, pupils dilating. She gulped deeply, and her eyes trailed down to his belt, partially fed through the loops of his trousers. She inhaled raggedly, a loud sigh exhaling from her chest a few moments after. 

Biting his lip, Draco was suddenly overcome by the strong scent of her again, by the soft curves that he longed to reach out and touch, by the fragility of their momentary non-hatred. As if by gravity, his hand had already begun to raise to meet her waist when get a fucking grip, Draco. Snapping his eyes open, he forced himself back. He’d just fucked up, he reminded himself. He’d just brought up the one thing he knew never to mention when they were this close.

In the absence of his warmth against her, Hermione whimpered, swallowing deeply as her brain struggled to rein in the fog of desire. Draco’s heart softened a bit. Just a bit, though. Nothing monumental or Earth-shattering. Get a grip, Draco. Fuck off. 

Blinking as if snapped from a daze, Hermione ducked away from him and pulled her wand from its ornate perch. It was a pretty thing Draco had bought her, inlaid with mother of pearl. Hermione thought having a wand perch was silly and pompous, but she still used it every night without fail. 

Tucking her wand into her waistband, Hermione raised her hands to her hair, smoothing it as best she could despite the charged curls still nipping at her fingers. Draco stayed facing the wall.

“I’ve got to go,” she murmured from the doorway, her voice strained. “This is too much for me, Malfoy.”

“I’m sorry,” he volunteered, dropping his arms to his side. “I didn’t mean to bring up anything off-limits.” Hermione bit her lip and kept her gaze locked on the floor, her pulse so loud he could almost feel it inside himself. “Are you really going to go to work like this?” he asked, resenting the vocal note of hope that she’d choose to stay with him. 

She took a shaky breath and raised her eyes to meet his, her head tilted to the side. 

“This isn’t fair,” she whispered and Draco winced. “I don’t have a choice. I didn’t want this, any of this.”

Draco looked at her grimly. “Life isn’t fair,” he grumbled, quoting his father’s words. “If it were, I’d probably be dead, and you’d be happily married to a Weasley. At least we get good sex,” he said ruefully.

“Right,” she laughed darkly, her hands still trembling. “What a silver lining.”

An unanswered question hung between them, and Draco gave her an expectant look.

“My heat isn’t here yet,” she told him sternly. “I’m still able to work, so I’m going to work.”

“Do you expect me to believe your change of mood this morning is an isolated incident?”

Remembering her advances, Hermione blushed. “I’m stronger than the Omega,” she stated matter-of-factly, and the look in her eyes indicated that she must believe this to be true. She looked too sure of herself. 

“Careful,” he warned. “We’ve lost enough great witches and wizards to hubris in our lifetime. We don’t need to lose you too.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ever the dramatic.” 

Draco’s lips pulled into a small smile. “I rather think that’s your specialty.”

She shrugged. “I have a big assignment due tomorrow.”

“You finished it last week,” he reminded her, trying out a slight teasing tone. He’d barely seen her for weeks as she worked tirelessly to ensure her research and case were impossible to fail. What might have been an easy climb to Minister for Magic once upon a time for her was no longer, now leaving her struggling at every turn. 

After her designation was made public, she spent years on damage control, trying to rise above the voices and reporters and articles that painted her as a ‘lusty subservient social-climber,’ rumours that no person who ever really met her or fought against her in court would dare to perpetuate. But there were people who still believed it, and she always fought tooth and nail to make sure that nobody would ever see her bow down to Draco.

So they fought.

Publicly.

“It’s a big case,” she mused, her fingers anxiously winding around the cuffs of her shirt, fingering the loose thread she managed to pry from the expensive material. “I can’t afford to not spend every minute possible making sure it's perfect.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Well, I could certainly afford it for the both of us. Besides, you’re not going to be able to concentrate on anything. You’re in no state to be heading in like this. Nott will take one look at you and throw you out, or better yet, he’d call me to come get you. And then what?” he asked rhetorically. “Then I come down to the office and pick you up and bring you back here and you spend all next month trying to convince everyone you’re not compromised physically and mentally. Do you really want me showing up in front of clients that still hate me? And anyway,” he said casually, as if his words were simple and fine. “You’re doing that thing with your hands,” he gestured to her, and she looked down. 

She smoothed her hands against her skirt in response, stretching them out. Darting her eyes up to his in curiosity, she raised her brows. “It’ll look worse if I don’t go in at all. It’ll look like I’m shirking my duties.”

“Do you really want to argue over optics?” he asked, venom lacing his tone. “Trust me, Granger. It’s better to look impolite than incompetent.” 

Hermione laughed in surprise, her eyebrows drawing up in shock. “Do you expect me to listen to anything you say when all you want is for me to stay so you can literally fuck around for a few days?” 

Turning from him, she left their room and started walking down the hall. Draco tried to call out to her, but the witch was faster than he gave her credit for and he found himself groaning as he stalked down the hall behind her, turning at the large staircase and hopping down the stairs.

“You’re just being obtuse,” he called out as she paused at the large closet, arms already stuffing into her long coat. “You’re only fighting me because it’s me. If Potter were here he’d tell you the same exact thing, and you’d fucking listen to him because—”

“—Because I love him and trust him, and he wouldn’t tell me any of that because he knows my work is important!”

“I hate to break it to you,” Draco raised his voice, “but he’s not the one who gets all clawed up when you deny yourself like this. You think I haven’t learned anything from the scars all up and down my back?”

She winced, electricity snapping around her. “I thought you liked that—

“Fuck, yes, I love it,” he growled in exhasperation. “It’s irresistible, and it drives me mad at the same time, because then I have to deal with a week of watching my back heal in the mirror every time—”

“Oh, please!” Hermione cried out. “How quickly could you make those go away if you wanted to!?”

“Have you ever thought that maybe I don’t want to? You keep trying to be rational about this but it just isn’t a rational scenario—”

“Then what am I? If I’m not rational and logical, I’m not in charge, and if I’m not in charge, then I’m nothing. I’m weak, and I’m not weaker than the Omega. I’m not.”

“Why can’t you be the same? You pretend it’s a constant fight, you against her, but it’s not. It’s both of you together—”

“It’s not me,” she pleaded, her voice desperate. “I didn’t want any of this before my first—”

“That’s how growing up happens,” Draco drawled. “Things change. People change. Isn’t that what you said at my trial after the war before any of this came between us?”

Hermione gulped, and Draco thought back to the moment she stood in front of the Wizengamot and testified on his behalf. Everything was different now, he knew that. He could count on one hand the number of nice things she’d said to him in the past six years that had nothing to do with her Omega or his Alpha. 

But back then, she’d been wearing such simple clothing, nothing at all like what she wore now. 

She’d had her hair tied up tightly against her head, nothing at all like what she wore now. 

She’d smiled at him, nothing at all like what she wore now.

But now they could share a room, something they hadn’t done for the first four years, relegating each other to the backgrounds of their lives. Draco didn’t want her slipping into him the way she did when they were this close, but they’d changed. He knew her every sigh, her every screech. He could feel her heart racing from the other side of the door. And then she’d look at him, exactly like she was doing now, and he’d be lost, his Alpha pining for her to stop throwing every wall between them. 

“Hermione,” Draco said firmly, his voice unwavering as he strode up to her and put his hand on her shoulder, halting her movements. Her eyes widened at his use of her name, and her mouth opened in question. “We’re not the people we once were,” he told her. “I hardly think you’d let me live if we were.”

Her mouth stayed parted as she inhaled deeply, her eyes creased in confliction with her pupils. “I want to,” she said quietly. “I wish I could. All I want is for you to take me upstairs, but I can’t.”

Draco took a step closer. “Why not?”

“I’d lose…”

“What’s so wrong with losing?” Draco shrugged, leaning down to gently press his lips against her forehead. “I’ve lost every fight I ever got in.” 

“And you’re okay with that?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied honestly. “You forget my upbringing; I was raised in a hostile home. The way I see it, at our worst, if that’s the rest of our lives, at least I’m already used to that.”

“And at our best?”

Draco thought for a moment. “Happy.” 

“Do you really think that could ever happen?”

He shrugged again. “I’d prefer if it did.”  Raising his other hand, he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, exposing her neck to him. Draco touched it hesitantly with his fingers, and she pleasantly warmed to him, melting into his hands, a comforted purr leaving her lips as she raised a hand to his hair, holding him in place. 

Tentatively, Draco swiped his tongue across the soft spot under her jaw, and she gasped loudly, sending shivers down his spine. The erection he’d been fighting all morning jutted out, his trousers tented. Moving his knee between her thighs, she made a squeak of approval, unfurling like a blooming night flower, and tipping her head back slightly. Her scent poured off of her, and Draco groaned as she pushed herself against his hips.

Setting his jaw in determination, he finally spoke. “Shall I Floo-call Theo? Let him know you’ll be out for a few days?”

She thought for a moment, her bottom lip worried between her teeth. “We might need more than a few,” she offered shyly.

“Really?” Draco arched his eyebrows in surprise. They usually dedicated the heaviest few days to mindless carnal fucking and then, as soon as she was able to be a person again, she’d be gone. The only few times she’d opted for a longer time had been… Draco’s mouth watered at the thought. They’d been soft. They’d been delicate. They’d been warm and slow and delectable. 

Flicking her eyes towards his, she sighed. “Because I don’t hate you right now.”

“Watch it, Granger,” he growled. “Your icy heart may never recover.”

Hermione laughed and rolled her eyes. “Trust me, it will.”

Draco allowed a small smile to settle across his lips, pulling her into something more resembling a hug than their previous motions. Biting his cheek, he wondered if he’d regret speaking. If perhaps she was just taken by the hormones, or if she didn’t really mean it. 

“I—” he began, unsure of himself, “I don’t hate you either.”

“No?”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t especially like you,” he smiled. “You’re annoying, your attitude is abysmal, you wake up angry every morning, and I feel we must discuss your violence with the toothbrushes one day, but I don’t hate you. I haven’t for a long time.”

“Then why do we do this to each other?”

“That’s easy. You were born for the courtroom and I was born entitled. Toss in the ‘oops-we-fucked-and-I-bit-you-accidentally-and-forced-us-both-into-lifelong-commitment thing’ and we’ve got the perfect storm.” 

Hermione smiled as he spoke, her eyes watering. “I don’t like you much either.”

“But?”

Hermione laughed. “But what?”

“You’re supposed to follow that up with the things you like about me.”

“You didn’t do that for me—”

“Right, I knew I was missing something. Well,” he began, raising his chin above her head and thinking hard. His thumb rubbed absently across her shoulder. “I think you’ve done wonders for my reputation.”

“Try again.”

“You are very good at boiling water.”

“Malfoy!”

“Oh,” he smirked. “I like how you say our name.”

“My last name is actually still legally—”

Ducking down impulsively, Draco grabbed her waist and pulled her against him, her legs wrapping around him seamlessly. “I like that I can do this,” he breathed into her ear, squeezing his hands against her. “I think you’ve got a killer arse. Sometimes I dream of—”

“Draco!”

“Nothing we haven’t done already,” he said dismissively, planting one of her wrists against the wall. “Come to think of it, I think I quite like the whole ‘hating each other’ bit every now and again. The hair pulling is… divine.”

Breathing in deeply, Hermione’s eyelids fluttered. He was already struggling to control himself, already breathing through his mouth to avoid destroying the headway they’d already made. She let out a small squeak and rolled her hips against him, an undulating current to her rhythm, and leaned her face closer to his.

Draco pulled back slightly, just enough to pull his wand from his pocket and cast a loose charm on her wrist to keep her in place. Shyly looking at him, she raised her second wrist to the wall above her. Such a good girl, she already knew what he wanted.

“What else do you like?” Hermione asked, her pupils large and forehead glistening.

Draco looked at her hungrily, desire swelling into every pore he had and potentially further as he fastened her other wrist to the wall. It was enough to drive him into a full rut, but he had to keep himself steady. He had to keep his head present, in the game, in the moment. He couldn’t let her out of sight. Not again. 

“Gods,” Draco moaned as he thought about all the things that drove him wild. “How wet you get,” he told her. “Even when you’re not in your heat—” he shook his head in disbelief. “—Fuck, Granger.”

Her hands balled into fists as she ground her body against his, melted into him.

“And now it’s your turn,” he whispered. “What do you like?”

Hermione’s face turned a bright red. “Y—Your smile,” she responded nervously. “You really do have wonderful teeth.”

“And?” Draco prodded, hands drifting under the hem of her skirt. Her legs tightened around him as his fingers wandered higher, and he wondered how angry she would be if he tore it from her body right there in the foyer. Fuck, if it didn’t look so good on her. He’d tear everything off her bit by bit if they didn’t make him bite his lip every time she walked out in them. Instead, he pulled it up against her legs until her knickers were completely exposed to him. He grazed a finger over the dampness and his eyes fluttered.

“I like your voice,” Hermione confessed, pulling his attention back. “Particularly when you get possessive.”

Draco smirked. “And here I thought you were the most independent woman of all time—”

“I can still be independent,” she argued breathlessly. “I just happen to like what I like.”

Eyes flicking down to her chest, Draco’s gaze fixated on the rosiness of her arousal. Without thought, he instinctively leaned down to kiss her collarbone. Her body clenched in surprise, and Draco's breath grew shallow as she squirmed against him.

“I—Draco, please,'' Hermione panted, and he pulled back.

“One more thing,” he asserted firmly, carefully unbuttoning her blouse. “One more and then I’ll do whatever you want me to do.” The heady aroma hit him instantly, and he struggled to regain his composure. Her exposed skin seemed to sing to him, drawing him closer. He could hardly keep from tearing the blouse from her entirely.

Her eyes widened. “Anything?” she asked tentatively.

“Anything.”

Struggling to stay oriented, Hermione’s head lolled a bit to the side as her nerves lit her aflame. Draco could hardly stand to pull his hands away, but she still had clothing on, and they were so close. Gods, get a grip. Just a bit more, he told himself. He could wait just a moment longer. 

“One more thing,” he urged, and he almost winced at the pleading tone. She didn’t seem to notice, though, her legs pulling him closer. Removing the blouse slowly, he gently rolled it to her elbows and paused. Deciding on just vanishing the blouse and paying the price later, he pulled his wand out from his pocket and touched it to the shirt. Throwing both the blouse and the wand across the room, figuring he could summon the wand later should he need it, he watched them land behind him on the cool marble floors. 

“Fuck, Malfoy,” she cursed. Pulling her head up to face him, she looked him in the eyes. “You—” she started, pulling herself up by her wrists to grind against him. “You make me feel so good,” she said quietly, her voice filled with need, sweat beading.

Impulsively responding to an unknown signal, Draco pulled her face to his. His lips crashed down against her in a passionate kiss, and Hermione purred against him in pleasure. She met his kiss eagerly, excitedly, a roughness to their movements that delighted Draco. Tugging his lower lip with her teeth, she tempted him closer.

His hands roved aimlessly against her skin, only encouraged by the friction between them. The heat of their bodies together tightened his chest. She kept pressing against him, and his fingers found the damp cotton of her knickers between them. At the touch of his bare skin against the hem, Hermione bucked her hips toward him, moaning loudly. 

“Please,” she whimpered against his lips, and Draco’s mouth crushed hers once again while his fingers dipped into her pussy. His whole hand dripped with the slick she was producing, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself sane. She clenched against him as he drove his fingers further in, his pinky lighting brushing the skin of her arsehole. Her breath hitched as his pinky pushed in slightly, her back arching deliciously and opening her chest to him. 

Draco’s mouth instantly found her breasts. He took one nipple in his mouth and teased it with his teeth while his fingers plunged in and out of her soaked quim.

Hermione’s breath quickened as he overwhelmed her senses, her thick scent pulsing through him rhythmically. It almost felt hypnotic. Pulling up from her bare chest, nipples swollen from attention, he buried his chin against the crook of her neck, forcing her head up. She panted next to his ear, the almost-formed-sounds escaping her lips subconsciously. His teeth bit down around the soft skin of her neck, the same place he’d claimed her all those years ago, and flicked his tongue against the sensitive spot. Feeling her tightening against his fingers, Draco grunted and pushed further in his motions until she cried out loudly.

Her back straightened, her legs stiffening as she rocked through her orgasm. She inhaled deeply, breathing in his pheromones and momentarily limping in his arms.

“Such a good girl,” he growled softly, pulling his fingers out. She gasped loudly as Draco searched for his belt, grinding against his hands in arousal. It took all of Draco’s willpower to stay focused on the task of ridding himself of his trousers as soon as humanly possible. 

Once his trousers were undone, Hermione fidgeted against him until she’d angled her legs properly. She pushed against his trousers with her toes, pulling them down by the loop. Grinning in success as she freed his erection, he pushed it against her open legs and a guttural moan slipped from her lungs.

Taunting her with the small bit of fabric left between them, he pressed himself against her roughly. Only her drenched knickers stood in the way of their skin touching, and he rolled his hips again under her causing a weak cry to pass through her lips. “Let me take you upstairs,” he said. 

“No,” Hermione responded firmly, her voice showing no signs of weakness. “I can’t make it, Draco.”

Relief flooded through his veins, and he wasted no time. Pulling her knickers aside, Draco readied himself at her centre, his other hand moving to grip the back of her head tightly. He pushed in easily, her quim welcoming him eagerly, and her chin fell back. She moaned breathlessly as he sheathed himself completely, and Draco had to lean his forehead against hers to keep himself from bucking. 

Hermione started slowly, writhing against him to test the waters and angles. It was enough to drive him entirely mad. Wrapping his arm around her waist, Draco lifted her just a small amount, just enough for him to pull her back down slowly. Her skin glistened, eyes wide as they watched his body move against hers.

She gripped the charms holding her in place and used them to her advantage, dominating the rhythm he set. Draco squeezed his eyes shut and threw his hands against her wrists above her, using the height difference to his advantage. 

The sounds of their sweat-beaded bodies against one another drowned out the incoherent vowels Hermione sounded at each thrust. Her breathing could no longer remain silent, and it only drove him wilder. 

“Draco—” she tried to speak, but her voice warbled unsteadily. He flicked his eyes to hers, and she held his gaze for a few seconds before finding her voice again. “Upstairs,” she managed, and Draco grinned. Remembering his discarded wand, he looked around him.

“I’ll need your wand,” he said urgently, and the corners of Hermione’s lips turned up. Her fingers danced lazily as she tried to direct him to the purse hanging against the doorknob of the nearby closet. Draco stuck a hand in and found it quickly, using it to dissolve the charms holding her in place. 

With a flick, Draco Apparated them to their bedroom where he walked toward their unmade bed and bent to prop his knees against the mattress. Hermione fell back against the bundle of sheets and tightened her legs around Draco’s waist, pulling him down with her. Still on the side of the bed, Draco grabbed Hermione’s waist and tugged her to the edge. Angling her properly, he pushed in slowly at first, testing the waters. Her core muscles tightened initially, but as he established a steady rhythm, she let herself relax against the mattress.

Biting his tongue to stop the slew of expletives trying to leave his mouth, Draco leaned back a bit and inhaled deeply. Hermione, matching his motions like a shoreline, anticipated his every movement. She met every slight angle change with a guttural groan; moving instinctively with him. There were no words exchanged as he began to thrust hard, faster, deeper. No words passed their lips as he pounded, except for the sounds Hermione made as the breath left her lungs at every stroke.

Hermione frantically raised her arms upwards, encircling his waist and back, hands searching for purchase. Her fingers trailed down his skin, her nails digging in, and Draco growled in desire. Rolling his shoulders, he removed one hand from the mattress and grabbed a fistfull of her hair, holding her tightly, her eyelids fluttering and mouth opened wide. A long raspy moan pulled through her as he plunged in and out, his pelvis rubbing against the nerves of her sensitive nub.

Draco winced as her nails dug into him, his back arching in the strange pain she could elicit from him. Another set of scars to go with the others. Hermione’s hands slipped against his skin, the slick and sweat mixing together to coat their bodies. The smell of sex and the desperate nails held her in place as a second orgasm shook through her.

Her walls tightened around him as she crested the edge he’d been desperately pushing her toward, and he used the momentary tensing of muscles to pick her up. Using nothing but the adrenaline still coursing through him, he pulled out of her slowly, delighting as she softly whined at the movement. He pulled her limply from the bed and she breathed deeply, the hormones overwhelming and overpowering. The cool air of the bedroom hit the mixture of sweat and slick that seemed to pour itself from his skin, running down his legs as he straightened with Hermione still in his arms, curling into his hold. 

Only allowing himself a second free from her scorching heat, he shivered lightly and set her back down on the edge of the bed. Regaining use of her limbs, she leaned back on her forearms for a moment while staring at him. His eyes flicked toward the pillows strewn around them, and Hermione’s lips played at a smile as she reached out to pull it closer.

“You said I could have anything I wanted,” she finally said, her voice still unsteady from exertion.

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “A promise is a promise,” he said roughly, his body straining to not combust where he stood. The view of her alone was enough to just about make him fall to his knees before her and devour her; he wanted to make her come again and again and—

“I know what I want,” she breathed nervously.

“And?”

Her eyes widened anxiously. “I want you to hate me,” she said. “Just for a bit.”

Fuck.

Draco’s brows pulled up in surprise. “You want me to hate you?”

She looked away sheepishly before finding the courage to pull herself to her knees. She crawled toward him slowly, stopping as she approached him enough to put her hands against his chest gently. Shivers daned through his skin at her gentle touch, and he leaned into the feeling, resting his forehead against hers.

“It’s like you said before,” she breathed. “The hair pulling is… divine.”

Draco growled instinctively at the submission, and grabbed her arm tightly. She winced at the pain, but the upturn of her lips and breathless giggle of excitement did nothing to temper his actions. He crashed his lips against hers roughly, forcefully, and she preened at the attention, her whole body vibrating and purring, reverberating inside of him.

He pulled her arm down to the mattress, and she eagerly rolled onto her shins. Grabbing her thighs, Draco dragged her to the edge of the bed again and pulled her into position. Her toes curled as he pushed in slowly, and when he was fully sheathed in her once again, he took a handful of hair and wound it around his hand. He gave it a small experimental tug, and Hermione’s muscles clenched around him. Her head fell back as he tested the angles, slowly taunting her sensitive nerves. 

At a deep thrust, Hermione let out a squeak of approval, and Draco bit his lip. He began to increase the strength of his undulations as she eased into the position.

Driving his knee between her legs, he pulled her thighs farther apart, her arse in the air. It was almost hypnotic again, almost enough to lull him into mindless rutting, but he’d made a promise to treat her, and if this is what she wanted, he’d give it to her with as much power as he could muster. 

“Say my name,” he demanded, his voice strong and commanding. She couldn’t form the sound on the first try, an odd string of vowel trailing from her open mouth as he pounded into her from behind. His fist tightened around her hair and pulled harder. “My name,” he said again. “Say my name, Hermione.”

Her hands, in front of her gripping the sheets tightly to keep her in place, paled as she struggled against the speed. Her mouth, now entirely agape, gasped for air.

Licking his thumb, Draco ran it against the sensitive skin of her arsehole again. At a loud cry of pleasure, Draco applied a small amount of pressure. Hermione’s fingers crumpled from the sheets, and her hands were suddenly on his hips as he snapped them against her. Her nails dug painfully into his tender flesh, and he almost laughed. By the time he died, he expected there would be many questions about the state of his body.

He tightened his hold on her hair again, and she found the sounds to shudder out his name. It could hardly be counted as his name, really, but it was close enough, and he didn’t have enough control to last much longer. He could feel himself swelling despite his attempted restraint, and the friction between them increased. Hermione’s fingers tightened as they grabbed at his skin, determined to keep her hold on him amidst the frenzy.

Blood rushed in his ears, flushing his skin. The slick and sweat transferred it to Hermione's thighs as he sank into her, bottoming out and groaning.

He gasped sharply as she began to flutter around his swelling cock, the pressure building around him. 

Setting an uncompromising pace, all Hermione could do was blindly grip him as he held her in place, pushing back against him as he ground his hips into her from behind, her back arching to take him in. The wet slapping of flesh filled the room, their combined scents mingling and creating a new aroma altogether. It was what Draco imagined love would smell like, intoxicating and overwhelming, embedding itself into his mind.

The fusion of their scents heightened his arousal, and he cursed aloud.

Their rhythm dissolved as Draco lost control over himself. His bucking, unrelenting, drove her into a carnal state. Letting go of her hair, he knelt down and wrapped his arm around her torso to pull her up against him. His hand held her firmly pressed against his chest as he rutted into her, her face upturned, her breath jaggedly panting next to his ears. 

“You’re mine,” he snarled against her ear, shivers lighting through her and meeting his skin, travelling through him as if they were one being. “Gods, you’re bloody perfect.”

Baring his teeth, Draco growled against her throat, his tongue searching out for her claim mark. He knew he found it when her whole body tensed. Grazing it with his teeth, she whined in need until he bit down. Swiping his tongue across the sensitive nerves, he bucked one last time and felt her clenching around him before unraveling entirely. 

In an instant, he cried out in release as he swelled and locked into place, hips jutting sharply. His body slumped from exertion, crushing her for a moment as they fell onto the bed together. She lazily pulled her knees up and melted into his body as her legs wove between his. Hermione laid her head against him quietly, her deep breathing rhythmic and calming.

They remained quiet for a few moments, both of them allowing their hearts to slow.. At some point, Hermione awkwardly pulled her wand from underneath her and used it to close the curtains and turn off all the lights. Her skin was still so warm, and the redness looked uncomfortable, so Draco kicked off the sheets and held her closely.

Drifting off into a lazy sleep, both exhausted and drained entirely, Draco kept his arms around her. He could feel her heart beating through her body, and the odd tinge of something strange in his stomach. 

He knew that while her body longed for children, his longed to protect her. He’d always managed to subdue this part of him; to stay distant enough to just brush by unseen, just enough that she wouldn’t see his gaze following her wherever she went. 

Hermione snored softly as she slept against him, and Draco thought of the day that sealed them to this fate. He remembered the morning of her first heat. Now, he understood that the attraction he felt was more than natural, more than an innocent crush or butterflies.

But if things were different, if they’d fallen into place any other way, Draco wondered if they’d have ever bothered.

If he were being honest, he couldn’t imagine he would. He couldn’t imagine ever choosing her, ever willingly tying himself to someone so hotheaded and self-righteous and stubborn. He couldn’t imagine the life he’d have if he’d been able to choose everything for himself from the beginning.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

“Draco,” she whispered, and he grunted to let her know he was awake. She pulled her head from his chest and turned to look at him. In the darkness of the room, he could hardly see her. 

“What is it?” he asked, pulling a lock of her hair from his face and laying it flat against her side.

“Do you really think we could be happy one day?”

Draco blinked in the darkness and searched for her hand. He found it and pulled her back to him. 

“If we choose it,” he whispered back to her. 

“And what happens when the hormones have worn off?” she asked hesitantly. “What happens when all this is over? What happens if we start fighting again?”

Draco pursed his lips. “At least we don’t hate each other,” he responded, gently pressing a kiss to her temple.