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People jostled past Draco like a hive of bees.
He stood there, stone still, a strange image, looking lost yet effortlessly regal in his long trench coat, dark sweater, and wool trousers.
He rubbed at his two-day stubble, a new look for him, which accentuated the sharpness of his lower face, and ran a large hand through his perfect blonde hair, deep in thought.
Muggle “airports” are kind of like using the floo to travel long distances—combined with the inefficiency of waiting to take the train to Hogwarts—also mixed with the exhilarating sensation of flying a quidditch broom. Draco felt satisfied with this analysis. He had never taken a “plane” before.
It was too bad muggles could not apparate; it would save them so much precious time traveling. Draco felt deeply sorry for them, right in the crook of his neck, where he still felt a vague, discomforting ache.
He wondered about Granger—if she ever took the “plane” or if she flooed… he hadn’t seen her in years.
Ah, Granger never liked quidditch anyways. She probably uses the floo for its efficiency as well, always so punctual.
He smiled faintly , thinking about Hermione Granger, a remnant of better, more youthful days when they were in school. Draco missed the times when his only problems were hopelessly flirting with a school crush by teasing her and calling her friends idiots…
What was he thinking? He shook his stray thoughts away.
He picked up his luggage in a firm grip and set off towards where the taxis were lined up, strolling past the swarm of people buzzing around the airport.
He was a lone Brit in a swarm of Americans. Fantastic , he thought sarcastically. Far, far away from Hogwarts.
“Draco Malfoy!” a familiar, chirpy feminine voice shouted from behind him, “Wait!”
Draco turned towards her. She was wearing a tan blazer with matching dress pants, jogging towards him with her suitcase in tow. Her curly, brown hair blew behind her like a hauntingly beautiful halo.
“I believe this suitcase is yours--” She motioned at the name tag attached to the luggage handle in her hand.
Then, pointing to the suitcase at Draco’s feet, “— and that one seems to be mine.”
“I’ve been trying to catch up with you since you left the luggage pick up zone.” She quirked her lips, a joke playing in her mind that escaped Draco.
“Imagine my surprise when I saw Draco Malfoy wondering about a muggle airport in America ! With my luggage!” She waved her hands around her animatedly.
Realizing she was still looking at him expectantly, Draco cleared his throat.
“Yes, my apologies, Gr—”
“Hermione! Just call me Hermione,” her eyes sparkled. “It’s good to see you again—after so long—I rarely see familiar faces from school anymore.”
She had spoken at the Wizengamot years ago, on behalf of his innocence. Her testimony about the night at the Malfoy Manor was partially the reason he was a free man after the war, able to walk around outside of Azkaban, instead of rotting away like the rest of the death eaters his family had known.
Hermione had gone to America after the war for her graduate studies. She had made a career for herself as an esteemed researcher. It was sensational news within the wizarding world. The Golden Girl leaves the country! To join muggle society again! Will she ever return?
Draco swiftly moved to swap their suitcases. As he leaned forward to take his luggage from her side, their shoulders brushed. Draco felt the spark of coming into physical contact with her ripple throughout his system. He felt a warm buzz where their shoulders had met. She stepped aside. He straightened back up.
With his suitcase in hand, he gave her a polite nod. “Thank you…Hermione. You look well.” He went on his way, after awkwardly patting her shoulder, grimacing from his atypical lack of charm, then turning his back to her, a man on a mission. Very smooth, Draco. He figured it was at least one step above calling her names at school.
There were many words left in his mind that he did not say. I’ve followed your work over the years—it’s brilliant. Then again, I always knew you would outpace us all. How is life in America—do you like it here? Do you ever miss London? Sometimes I do.
But she probably did not want to idle away, wasting time chatting with him; she had also probably heard the same compliment on her work a million times before by now, from people whose opinion she admired more.
With his back to her, he wondered if it would be another several years before he would see her again. What a coincidence…
He almost turned back around, to ask her something, anything, but thought against it. He didn’t know why, but it felt like it would precipitate a sense of regret. Maybe she would call out after him again? With every step, he took long strides away from her, almost disappointedly.
He heard no second outcry, from the woman who haunted his every waking thought, whom he had not expected to see today. Draco had come to New York for work as an international lawyer for the Ministry. He had spent the last several years studying to practice law in London, then in France, Germany, and finally figured that he needed a drastic change of scenery.
Everywhere in Europe he went, there were always people that remembered which side the Malfoys had played for in the war. He was tired of being linked to his past. America was the land of the free. He knew no one here, except Hermione Granger.
In the end, there was a nice little neighborhood in Manhattan that he settled into. It wasn’t too far from his new office via subway.
And yes, Draco Malfoy was committed to using the subway.
He had changed his ways. If only she knew.
“Bye, Draco,” Hermione mumbled softly after his retreating figure, the space behind him filling up with a swarm of faceless airport strangers.
Hermione took the subway back to her apartment. The whole time she replayed those moments in the airport, Draco had somehow become impossibly handsomer—was that stubble that she had noticed? It was a gorgeously masculine look on him…
She outwardly cringed in her seat, curling her shoulders inward and scrunching her face up. No, stop. We are not going to think about this now.
The young couple across from her stared at her blankly. The lady next to her gave her a side-eyed glance. Hermione felt her face heat from embarrassment. She tried not to think about him the rest of the way home.
When she arrived at her apartment, it was eight o'clock in the evening.
Just when she got settled in, after ordering Chinese take out, the phone rang.
Tiredly, Hermione picked up the phone, “Hello?”
“Hermione! Are you safely back from Chicago, honey?” It was her mom. Hermione had just gotten back from Chicago from being invited to speak at a conference. She was settled in her apartment in New York after completing her degree in Boston.
“Yes, mom, I’m good. Hey, um, I’m really busy right now, and I’ve got an early morning tomorrow, but thanks for calling. Love you so much!”
“Oh okay, honey, get some rest—”
“I will, thanks, talk to you later!” Hermione quickly hung up the phone and sighed. She felt terrible.
She loved her mother, but it was difficult to fake a cheerful attitude when all she wanted to do was sleep. It felt important for her to always show her most perfect self to them, ever since she had visited them in Australia after the war, to try to recover the memories of her that she had obliviated from them. It was not a perfectly linear process, and Hermione still sometimes felt the need to be extra vivacious around them. She thought that it would also somehow communicate how much she truly loved them, even though they did not fully understand why she did what she had done.
She downed the rest of her take out, threw it in the trash, and headed towards the bathroom.
Time for a warm shower. She was in desperate need of one.
The water was soothing on her skin. Under the spray of the shower head, Hermione could let go of all the stress of the day.
Truth is, she was so tired. She wasn’t normally like this. She knew she could balance overexerting herself, but truth be told, she could feel herself getting older. She couldn’t bounce back as quick from sleepless nights, traveling all over the country, not eating well, and working overtime…
Hermione closed her eyes and tilted her head up towards the shower spray. This year I will treat myself better, she thought.
The next morning, Hermione got out of bed with an extra pep in her step, ready to carpe diem and all that.
She smiled at herself in the mirror, gave herself a little pep talk, and flew out the front door.
The world blurred in a flurry of activity around her. There were so many people on the streets, walking to who knows where to do who knows what. When Hermione arrived at the station, she finally allowed herself to pause and take her first clear, mindful breath of morning air.
The morning rush was crazily energetic that day, and Hermione loved people watching. She saw a violinist performing near the tiled wall and listened cheerfully. Digging around in her bag, Hermione walked over to the musician and dropped a couple dollars in their instrument case.
They smiled and nodded their head at her. Hermione waved goodbye with a smile as she saw her train pull up in the corner of her eye.
Quickly, she squeezed into the crowded compartment.
“Oop—I’m so sorry, my bad,” she apologized to whoever’s leather-bound foot she just stepped on, turning around to find their owner.
The man grunted. Then they made eye contact.
She knew that face. “Oh! It’s you.”
There was recognition in his look as well.
“Yes, me indeed,” he rumbled, craning his neck to look down at her.
“What a coincidence again!” she exclaimed, “Are you here visiting?”
“Something like that. Maybe more permanent.”
Silence. A beat passed.
“Oh, great! I am also settled here now.”
“I know,” he said wryly. “I read the news.”
“Ah, yes, of course—how silly of me,” Hermione chuckled to herself.
He lifted an eyebrow, just barely. There was something humorous in his sparkling eyes.
It seemed to her like a lifetime passed before he gave her a small smile back.
Hermione looked down at her feet during the rest of the train ride, apparently finding something very interesting about her heeled toes.
Merlin, how do I make small talk with Draco Malfoy? What else can I say? Hermione thought to herself frenziedly.
He was so close. She could feel his large, enveloping presence in front of her. She restrained herself from worrying at her bottom lip nervously.
I am doomed. Get me off this train.
She might have internally fought with herself over her options of escape until the end of the train ride.
They got off at the same stop.
Before separating amidst the moving crowd, he asked for her number. Hermione was surprised that he knew how to use a phone—most of the wizarding world still communicated by owl.
She figured he was asking just to keep in contact with her, not in an inherently romantic way. He probably didn’t know what asking for a girl’s number implied, or he would not have asked. It made her laugh though: the boy who used to tease her in school, who was asking for her phone number on the subway.
She took out a pen from her bag and scribbled it on his arm.
He called her that evening. She was surprised at how quickly he had reached out.
“Hello, Hermione,” he drawled in his elegant, gravelly voice.
“Hope you have had a lovely day.”
He was charming to her. They chatted.
He asked if she was free the next day, on a Saturday morning, for coffee. He admitted he was also available in the evening if that was better for her. All day, really, whenever she wanted to meet.
She chuckled and said yes, the morning would be fine. She offered the location of her favorite coffee shop.
Hermione strolled into the doorway of a coffee shop. Draco had arrived there a couple minutes beforehand. It was a quarter of an hour earlier than the time they had set, but he knew that she would be early anyway.
“Here she is, the Golden Girl,” he called out in the open, his voice projecting in the room, and waved to her from his table.
Heads turned excitedly. When they saw her, they only looked around more confusedly. In New York, “Golden Girl” must have meant the promise of a model, or celebrity, or designer. But alas, it was only the brilliant, beautiful Hermione Granger. No other Golden Girl would have sufficed for Draco.
Ducking her head down, smiling, she rushed to take the seat next to him.
He chuckled, “I didn’t know your order, so here’s a cup of green tea, supposedly good for the heart.” Actually, he had remembered that she drank green tea every morning in the dining hall, and sometimes in the library as a study boost, but he wasn’t going to say that to her now.
“Just Hermione would’ve done it, you know.” She took a sip of her tea. He watched her lips close around the rim of the cup.
“Perhaps, but you never know, how many Hermiones there are in this cafe,” he teased. He should stop looking at her mouth.
She rolled her eyes, “I have never met another Hermione.”
“Neither have I,” he admitted. “By the way, a thank you is in order, if you like the tea, that is.”
“Thank you, Draco.” Oh, that was heavenly.
“You’re very welcome, Miss Granger.” He didn’t see a ring on her finger but wanted to make sure that she was still “Miss.”
“Miss Granger, but to you, just Hermione” she corrected. Perfect.
They talked about some of their Hogwarts peers and what they were up to, her research, and his new job. He complained about the Malfoy name undermining his professional opportunities.
She joked, “How devastating it must be to come from wealth.”
“Do me the favor of calling out all my privilege, slandering my family name, oh, mighty, Golden Girl.” In all fairness, she probably deserved a good shot at him at this point.
“No, I’d rather not. I actually have tremendous respect for your poor mother. I’ve seen her charities in the news.”
“My mother is not poor in the slightest,” he deadpanned.
“By poor, I mean that she had to raise you.”
A boisterous laugh escaped him against his will. “Fair enough,” he conceded. He could feel his eyes crinkling with the remnants of joy when he looked back at her.
“I’m kidding, I think you turned out great.” Her eyes gleamed. A compliment from Hermione Granger? He’ll take it, gladly.
“And how did you deduce that?” There was a warmth in his eyes that he failed to dismiss.
She shrugged, feigning nonchalance, “Well, in the papers, they did used to call me the Brightest Witch of Her Age.” Cheeky.
“You still are, by far.” Draco downed the rest of his tea and stood up. He noticed that a mysterious smile had adorned her face.
Offering his hand, ever the gentleman, he asked, “Care to join me for a walk?”
She took his offer, placing her hand in his, along with a good-natured roll of her eyes at his theatrics.
A couple days later, Hermione walked towards her apartment when she noticed someone’s quiet footsteps behind her.
Panicked, she walked faster.
Her heart beat fast.
She clutched the string of her bag tightly in front of her.
The footsteps followed her closely.
Stupidly, she turned around, confronting the stranger.
Draco Malfoy stood tall in front of her, wide eyed.
“Are you following me?!” she asked.
He sputtered and scoffed. Disbelievingly, he shook his head and walked on, passing her. Her eyes followed him.
He took a couple steps before turning around to her again.
“I was not,” he said nonchalantly.
She narrowed her eyes at him.
He scanned her face then looked off to the side, putting his hands in his coat packet. “We live in the same apartment complex.”
She stared at him blankly, “No.”
“Yes,” he shrugged.
“How long have you known?”
He scrunched his nose, “…After we had coffee?”
“And you didn’t tell me because…?”
He looked sheepish, a rare look on his usually confident composure. It made him look boyish, which Hermione found endearing.
“Well, never mind,” Hermione huffed, “but at least say something the next time you’re walking in right behind me.”
He saluted, playfully. “The lady has my word.”
She rolled her eyes, with a smile.
“Now that we’re already here,” he drawled on, “would you like to come inside?” He winked. “I can prove my innocence.”
They stood outside of his apartment door. He grabbed his keys, unlocked the door, and let her enter first.
With his arms spread, he announced, “Welcome to my humble abode.”
She stepped into his living room, looking around.
“Draco,” she said, “do you need help unpacking?”
He looked at his moving boxes in the corner. Running a hand through his hair, he responded, “Oh yeah, I forgot those were still there.”
She clucked her tongue mockingly, “You’ve proven your innocence, but you’ve also shown that you’re in severe need of my special unpacking services.”
“I’m going to pretend that was not an innuendo.”
She slapped his arm.
His face wore a devilish grin.
They unpacked his belongings together on a pleasant Saturday afternoon.
Hermione slumped onto his couch. He followed suit after her.
Tiredly, they stared vaguely at the carpeted floor of his newly furnished apartment.
“Is it really nine o'clock already?” He groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Should we grab something to eat?”
She nodded her head vigorously beside him, too tired for words.
“Let’s do pizza,” he decided. “I have recently been enlightened by the wonders of cheap New York delicacies.”
Hermione laughed. She hadn’t expected it from him, but then again, it seemed like he had changed, in a multitude of ways.
When the pizza came, they wolfed down their food between gulps of wine over his quaint, circular kitchen table. There were just enough chairs for two, but Hermione had a sense that he was not expecting to have guests very often. He seemed lonelier than she had remembered, without his crew of Slytherin enthusiasts flanking him at all times anymore. She felt lonelier these days too.
The wine was delicious, and she almost enjoyed the pizza as much as Draco had. “I never knew you liked pizza so much,” she said as witnessed him finish half the box in the same time that she had finished her single slice.
“I wasn’t allowed to eat it growing up,” he conceded. “There’s something about knowing that my parents would hate seeing me like this.”
She watched his throat move as he threw his head back and swallowed his wine.
“You are better than your past, you know.” She wanted him to hear it, in case no one had told him.
“Save it for another time, Granger.” He dismissed her comment, not disrespectfully, per se, but she could tell he didn’t want to delve into that line of conversion. She figured there would be other opportunities to bring it up, now that they would be in such close proximity living in New York, so she let the thought go. For another time.
“Hermione,” she corrected. He had called her Granger, as he had from before.
“Right, sorry—creature of habit.” He grimaced apologetically as their eyes met.
She laughed. “It’s alright—so am I most of the time.”
“Well, I guess I am in good company.” She looked at him, and he stared intently at her face.
“What?” she asked.
“Hold on,” he said as he reached over to press his thumb into the corner of her lips. He rubbed a stray crumb off of her mouth.
She held her breath.
“All done.” Time seemed to pause as they locked eyes again.
“Thanks.”
She took a big gulp of her wine. He followed suit, smacking his lips.
They lapsed into a comfortable silence.
She looked around his apartment and took notice of the calendar he had put on the wall. It was October 12th, the day she had obligated her parents. She suddenly felt sullen; she had almost forgotten. She was having such a nice time in his company.
Across from her, Draco felt her distraction. “Earth to Hermione,” he tapped the tip of his finger on his wine glass, making a noise. “Where did she go just now?”
She glanced over at him, drawing her attention away from the wall. He was sitting relaxed, almost indolently, in his chair. He smirked at her, and his eyes crinkled warmly.
He was so handsome, and he really had changed. It felt too good to be true. She didn’t have the words to thank him, nor did she know what exactly it was that she should be thanking him for.
“Draco?”
“Mm?”
She leaned in, reaching for him over the table. Before she could change her mind, she kissed him.
He wrapped his hands in her hair.
He tasted like tomato sauce.
Something about the moment felt right to her.
Cozy, warm, the two of them, sharing pizza and wine.
Hermione couldn’t think over the sensation of his delicious lips on her neck. At some point he had taken her blouse off, leaving her in only her nude, lacy bra and jean shorts. She can also vaguely remember him lifting her up in his arms and over to the nearest flat surface on which to place her upon, the kitchen island.
Right now, Hermione wound her fingers through his hair, beckoning his face closer to her lips.
He cupped her face with one large hand and molded her lips into his.
Hermione moaned and kissed him back vigorously, letting her hands work into his soft hair.
When it was clear that they were both out of breath, he lifted his head for air and laid his forehead on hers. Looking at her swollen lips heatedly, he licked his own lips sensuously.
“Draco,” she whispered breathlessly.
“Patience, love,” he rasped, his lips centimeters from hers.
She wrapped her legs around him.
Groaning, he wedged his thigh in between her legs and grabbed her hips, pushing into her firmly.
She gasped and clutched the fabric of his shirt between her fingers tightly over his chest.
Noticing that he was still fully clothed, she reached down to tug the hem of his shirt insistently.
“Take this off,” she mumbled into his lips.
He raised his toned arms and tugged his shirt off of his long torso, exposing his beautiful body to her eyes. Hermione placed her hands on his chest and let them wander all over his newly exposed skin.
He reached for her lips with his and teased the seam of her mouth with his tongue. She opened her mouth for him readily. He groaned and slid his tongue over hers while squeezing her hips and running his hands over the skin of her thighs, her back, her sides. He couldn’t touch her enough. He wanted all of her. Draco let his hands drift to her back and undid the clasp of her bra. Hermione shrugged out of the nude lace enthusiastically. She threw the bra somewhere on the floor. His hands drifted down to tug her shorts off. Hermione wiggled out of them readily.
She then wrapped her arms around his neck and let one hand drift into his hair. Still engaged in a deep kiss, she tugged whenever he did something especially clever with his mouth. All the while, she rubbed herself on his thigh, still in her cotton panties, only a couple layers separating them.
Whilst exploring her body with his hands, he cupped her chest gently and ran his hand over one pert nipple. She arched for him and moaned.
“You’re a dream,” he rasped in awe, continuing to play with her nipple.
Hermione rubbed herself on him more insistently, thrusting her hips into his hard bulge. Draco growled and lowered his wet mouth to her chest, letting his lips leave bruising tingles wherever they latched onto her soft skin. His mouth devoured her. He licked a trail to her nipple while palming her other breast in his firm hand. When his lips closed over her nipple sensually, softly sucking and licking the raised pleasure spot, Hermione squeezed his shoulders tightly and threw her head back in pleasure. She desperately drew him closer to her with her grip on his shoulders. But it wasn’t close enough.
“Ah- Draco- I- need more,“ she gasped.
He groaned into her skin, “Tell me where, use your words, sweetheart.”
“Inside. Now,” she moaned, grinding her hips into his member roughly.
He grabbed her hips, hard, and cursed. “Accio wand.”
His wand flew to them, and he cast a quick contraceptive charm. When it was done, he looked down at her and paused.
“Bed, yes—“ he mumbled, “bed is good.”
He lifted her into his bedroom and then set her on his bed.
She grabbed his face and pecked his lips, beckoning him to move closer to her, with his body bracketing hers.
He kissed her back with a scorching, heavy mouth and quickly tugged his pants down. Hermione broke from the kiss, reached down, and helped pull his clothes off, noticing where she had left a damp mark on the fabric. He noticed as well and gave her a smug, handsome look. She blushed and bit her lip shyly. His eyes honed in on her center and darkened.
He then tugged a finger under the waistband of her panties and slipped them off of her, torturously slow, down her long, supple legs. When she was exposed, he stared, starving, at the wet heat between her naked thighs.
His mouth drew in closer. He hovered over her, his hot breath hitting her center. He grabbed her hips, hard, bringing her to him, and licked his tongue over her, lapping at her continuously, kissing her velvety folds. The glorious sensation tightened a coil deep in her core. She felt herself grow wetter and clenched at nothing.
“Inside, please,” she begged, pleasure rocketing through her body.
His hands squeezed her hips tightly. He groaned.
She felt one long finger at her entrance, then the feel of him sinking into her. Her channel welcomed the intrusion, tightening in pleasure.
His finger hit a spot, and she moaned. He pressed into the same spot, then thrusted a second finger into her, opening her up more.
She gasped and pulled on his hair. His mouth resumed its position in between her thighs. She hooked a leg over his shoulder.
He sucked at her clit, as his fingers pressed into her, feeling for the spot on her walls that made her whine. The sensation was delightful; it was a dance of his tongue moving over her sensitive nub and his digits working inside of her with deft hands.
She shifted her hips with the rhythm of his fingers. There was something she was trying to find. He took notice and pressed into her harder, faster. His mouth pleasured her further, flattening his tongue over her.
She felt a flutter escape her. He groaned.
“Let me have this,” his voice rasped, as he worshipped her.
She whined and tightened her hold on his hair. Her hips moved in conjunction with his hands, plunging into her deeper. He gave her everything she needed to let go.
With a cry of his name, she exploded and spasmed around his fingers. His mouth continued to work over her, and the pleasure crescendoed deep within her.
When she came back down from her high, he pulled his fingers out and licked them clean. He crawled up her body to kiss her. She heard mutters of “perfect, so good, mine” as she sighed into his mouth, tasting herself on him.
His body enveloped hers, and he aligned their torsos. Then, she felt his beautiful cock pushing where she needed him the most. He thrust gently, only notching the head of him with her entrance, and she moaned, feeling another bolt of pleasure run through her system.
Draco thrusted in her slowly, sinking into her centimeter by centimeter. He didn’t take his eyes off of her beautiful face, scrunched into an expression of perpetual ecstasy.
Finally, he bottomed with her fully seated on him. He rubbed at places inside of her that made her eyes roll to the back of her head. He placed his warm hands on her hips and encouraged her to move. Hermione lifted her hips then fell back down onto him. They both groaned at the sensation.
Hermione lifted up and down again, hard and controlled. She looked at his face contorted with pleasure and went faster, knowing he was enjoying the feel of her, wanting him to seek his release as she had. Her mouth fell open and she moaned for him.
He squeezed her hips harshly and thrusted up into her, matching her pace.
“Such a good girl,” he panted, “riding my cock so perfectly.”
Her cunt tightened on him. She bounced enthusiastically and gasped his name into his ear. She felt her own pleasure building again. He stared reverently at her and picked up the pace. Their bodies moved together in perfect harmony.
“Look at those beautiful tits bounce for me,” he rasped.
She arched her back further, baring them for his gaze.
“Thought about this so much, love. You are so beautiful.”
While tugging at her hips to keep her moving on him just the way he wanted her to, Draco lowered his mouth and licked at her breasts once again, relishing the flavor of her skin.
Their bodies pounded wetly into one another and the sound was positively vulgar.
Whilst licking his name on her breasts, Draco moved one hand to where their bodies were joined and pressed the pad of his thumb firmly on her clit. He rubbed the button with sure, vertical movements at the same pace as their lovemaking.
Hermione gasped louder and moaned.
“Draco,” she said breathlessly.
He groaned, “You’re doing so good, darling.”
He thrusted into her roughly and she picked up the pace, desperately chasing her own climax. She was right on the edge.
He hit a delicious spot inside of her and pounded it over, and over, and over again.
Her cunt throbbed and gripped his cock achingly. She whined wantonly.
“Come for me, Hermione,” he said, his voice finally throwing her over the edge.
Her cunt fluttered around him, hard, and she threw her head back in ecstasy. It was like a tidal wave working its way out of her body, a magnificent show of pure bliss. Her cunt pulsed in powerful spasms, each one causing her more pleasure.
Draco continued to thrust into her, through her climax. Her eminent pleasure drove him closer to his own release. As Hermione came back down, still in a lighthearted bliss from her own aftershocks, he spilled into her with a grunt, letting his come hit the walls inside of her.
While still inside of her, Draco rested his head in the crook of her shoulder and pressed his lips into her neck sweetly, using his tongue to soothe marks he had left on her skin from earlier. Hermione wrapped her arms around his shoulders and sighed contently.
Their bodies were slick with sweat, and they held each other, still trying to catch their breaths.
He told her she was everything, his beautiful girl. She rubbed circles into his upper back and leaned further into his embrace.
Tiredly, Hermione closed her eyes, falling into a satisfied state of slumber.
In the morning, Draco awoke next to the woman of his dreams. For a moment, he was convinced it was only a part of a nice dream he was having, but then he felt her quite solidly snuggle into his side and wrap her bare leg around him. He could feel the smooth, soft skin of her inner thigh.
Nothing his mind could make up could ever be as good as this. At that point, he was certain that he was awake, along with another growing part of him, and that he was the luckiest man alive.
There was no Malfoy fortune—or watching the crowd go wild after catching the Golden Snitch, or an egregious amount of firewhiskys with the boys, or luxurious solo living in France and Italy—that could ever compare to waking up next to her.
This was the joy that his life had been missing: what he had come to America, with his heart secretly hoping for. All the years of longing had not dampened the feeling.
Hermione Granger was curled up next to him, with bed head curls splayed around her, and kissed by the soft, morning light from his bedroom window, she was the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen. It was like the sun granted her a halo and cemented her heavenly aura and angelic status in his mind.
Hermione woke up with a soft sigh. The air from her breath ghosted the naked skin of his chest.
Her eyes opened, and she saw him looking down at her. She suddenly felt shy in his presence, “Oh, hello—”
He smiled softly and leaned down to capture her lips in a sweet kiss. She returned the gesture and sighed into his mouth.
When they separated, he looked at her pointedly, eyes drilling into hers, “I have been in love with you since Hogwarts. You must know.”
Hermione was barely awake, her mind felt dipped in drowsiness, but she racked her brain, searching for the answer. “Fourth year?” Hermione thought maybe it was the Yule Ball that did it, when she dressed up and did her hair, looking like a star on Viktor Krum’s arm.
“From the beginning,” he swore.
“Since the first ‘Wingardium Leviosa’ in charms, since the sorting hat, hell—maybe even when you recited Hogwarts: A History on the train.”
She gasped softly and covered her mouth. “No.”
“I am afraid so,” said Draco, gravely.
She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
His arms came around her waist, pulling her into him.
They tumbled down into his bed. It felt undeniably right.
Bed heads, messy sheets, the two of them, legs tangled.
Paradise on earth.