Actions

Work Header

8 Simple Rules For Loving A Vampire

Chapter 7: Rule #8: Oh, I (Bloody) Love You

Notes:

The end! Thank you to everyone who has read this story. I've appreciated the support.

Final thanks to weestarmeggie for being a great alpha/beta and a great friend who really was more patient with me than she needed to be. Thank you heaux, for everything. <3

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

On a rare day off, Hermione decided to visit with Andromeda and Teddy. Taking advantage of the spring air, she apparated to the park nearby and walked from there, although the tempestuous weather in London meant that when she knocked on the door she was more than a bit soaked through.

“Hello, Andromeda,” Hermione said, shaking from the cold. She reached into her bag and handed Andromeda a care package from Harry, who was out of England on an Auror mission and couldn’t come along. The older woman rolled her eyes fondly before accepting Teddy’s undoubtedly loud gift and setting it on the kitchen counter. She picked up her wand and aimed it at Hermione’s head, likely to dry it, but Hermione shook her head.

“It’s going to get frizzy.” She took out her own wand and cast a drying charm on her clothes. “It’ll dry on its own.”

“My mother would have been frightened at the amount of hair you have,” Andromeda tutted. “Likely would have for Nymphadora as well. She had Ted’s messy curls when she was born.”

Hermione smiled, patting her wet hair. “I remember Tonks smacking Professor Lupin on the arm when he asked if her hair was brown or pink when she was born.”

Andromeda chuckled. “It was brown, to her chagrin.” She gestured Hermione to the kitchen. “I’ll make us some tea and biscuits and before you ask, no, you are not allowed to help.”

Hermione grinned. “I would love some.” She looked around for the usually turquoise-haired child. He usually came hurtling in whenever she and Harry visited. “Where’s Teddy?”

“Oh, well, he’s in the backyard playing.”

Hermione raised a brow, noticing the way Andromeda was avoiding her gaze.

“He’s actually playing with Draco,” she said slowly. Hermione’s heart stuttered, and she had to battle against the desire to hide in the pantry should a white-blond head pop into the kitchen. “They’re outside right now, Draco is showing him how to conjure birds.”

Oh god. No.

“Oh.” she patted her hair again, feeling it rise in a rush of anxiety. “Well that’s…” She narrowed her eyes. “Andromeda.” She hoped her tone conveyed the proper accusation.

Andromeda only replied in a hum, and it was then that Hermione noticed that there were three cups of tea set on the table.

“Andromeda,” Hermione said again, baulking at the woman while she sent haphazard glances down the hall to the back door. You obviously could never trust a Pureblood with anything.

She was about to tell Andromeda how she really should be leaving, but the devious woman took Hermione by the shoulders and told her that it was only polite she stay for tea now that it was made. She ushered Hermione to the backyard, with a much stronger grip than Hermione would ever have expected. Or maybe Hermione felt it more because her muscles, her bones, her very nerves, felt like they were being broken apart as panic rose inside her.

Stepping outside, her heart lurched at the sight of Draco, who was indeed showing Teddy how to conjure a flock of yellow birds. He was noticeably without a wand, and she couldn’t help but still marvel at the way he used wandless magic.

Andromeda made a coughing noise and Draco turned towards them, grey eyes widening as his gaze landed on Hermione. He obviously hadn’t expected to run into her here of all places.

They stared at each other for a moment; Hermione’s own defensive walls were crumbling before her eyes and she had to wonder if his were too. She startled when the flocking yellow birds started whizzing around her head.

Draco apologised with a grimace, halting the spell, and the little birds disappeared in yellow dust around them.

“Teddy, dear, how about you and I finish making tea and biscuits while Draco and Hermione talk,” Andromeda called.

Teddy pouted but nodded, hugging Hermione and tugging one of her long, wet curls before running inside. She turned to watch them, shooting Andromeda a contemptuous glare. The lovely, conniving Slytherin only winked at her in return before leaving them alone.

Hermione gave a mostly amused sigh before she turned around. Draco had taken a few steps towards her and she could see the tired look in his eyes as he tracked her movements. “The Black family has some mischievous members in it,” she said slowly.

Draco gave her a sad smile. “That they do.”

She bit her lip and he followed the movement. “How are you?”

“I’ve been better,” he said, fidgeting like he was trying to find something to do with his hands.

Clearly he had in fact, been better. His face looked wan as he stared at her, there were lines around his eyes and the set of his jaw looked strained. She could hear it crack slightly when he tried to speak. He looked like someone who hadn’t gotten a good night's sleep in years. But his eyes were bright and intent as he stared at her.

Hermione felt her heart constrict, her nerves running ragged as they fought against her determination to remain calm.

She could finally at least be honest with herself, however. It hurt how much she still loved him when she admitted it to herself.

She stepped towards him at the same time he took a step forward, her hand raising awkwardly and without her permission at the same time he reached a hand towards her. Hermione’s cheeks burned as she withdrew, and Draco’s came to rest at his side, his knuckles clenched so hard they were white.

“I’m—” She took a breath. There was so much to say, so much left unsaid between them, and Hermione had never been good at being unprepared. Although she relented that there was no way of preparing her for still having the sort of ruinous feelings that she had for her ex vampire lover whom she hadn’t even had sex with—yet. The thought of having sex with said vampire in front of her brought with it what she was sure was a deeper shade of blush to her cheeks. Draco studied her for a moment before stepping forward again; he took one of her wet curls, wrapping it around one finger.

“Do you forget you’re a witch and can use your wand?” he asked, his lips tilting in a ghost of a smirk.

Her heart panged at the nostalgic words. “You know it gets frizzy if I use a drying charm."

He considered her for a moment. “It’s large and marvellous and entirely you.” And he really did marvel at it as he studied her, his mouth slightly open and silver eyes penetrating.

Her breath hitched, and he must’ve misunderstood her reaction because he was about to let go of the curl and started to step back. She didn’t think when she caught his arm and stepped towards him. They were almost chest to chest now, his finger still entwined in her curl, although it was his entire hand now in her hair because her curls seemed to want to take him captive.

“Sorry, I'm—”

“No, it’s—”

She thought it was maybe subconscious on his part, the way he slid his hand into her hair, stroking it like it was the most precious thing he’d ever touched.

“So,” she said, unable to help herself. “What kind of wand did you buy?”

His lips pressed together in a firm line. “I didn’t.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “What? Why?”

“I don’t deserve one,” he said simply.

“You can’t be—”

He shook his head, his face set in grim determination. And then she realised something. Cast in her memories was a book on Sisyphus, and how his damnation for rolling a rock up a hill to have it roll back down was decided by those who thought him incapable of redemption. His damnation, his redemption, it was now up to Draco to define what it meant for him. She’d forgive him, always, but it was not up to Hermione if he forgave himself.

So she nodded, heart unspooling, and gave him a wan smile. “It’s your choice,” she agreed.

And maybe it was the way he was staring down at her, ravenous and devastating, but she tilted her head up, her hand touching his caved in stomach, sliding up his chest until it rested on his heart. He tilted his head down, and Hermione was sure they were about to kiss when a voice shouted.

“Auntie Hermione! There are fresh biscuits!”

Hermione startled, stepping back and turning towards Teddy. Andromeda came rushing out, and Hermione heard a groan of disappointment before she apologised to them and took Teddy back inside.

Hermione couldn’t help the laugh that escaped, fingers on her lips to stifle the deranged holler she wanted to let out. She turned back to Draco, who was looking away to stifle his own chuckle.

“Are you staying for tea?”

“I don’t think I have much of a choice,” he replied, his lips, his fangs, gleaming in the spot of the setting sun peeking through the clouds.

She laughed, and it was the most freeing one she had in years. “Let’s get you inside, your poor, pale, vampire.”

He scowled. “I resent that.”

She hummed, and they walked in together. As he held the door open for her, the warmth of his hand on her waist as he guided her through, made her shiver. She could feel her heart attempting to pound out of her chest, banging against her chest cavity. Her throat went dry when she looked at the tilt of his lips, how they rebelled against his attempt at control, and she couldn’t help the way she returned it.

They sat awkwardly at the table, pretending a picture of ease for young Teddy who did not yet know the conflicts of adults. Draco told Teddy he could visit the manor anytime and they could fly over the large grounds once he was allowed a broom.

Hermione couldn’t stop the smile that pulled at her lips again when she saw Teddy change his hair to a white-blond, a more playful reflection of a young child that grew up in a much more restrained world. she drank from the small teacup to hide the full-out grin that was spreading across her face.

Draco noticed it because he looked up at her and gave her a wide, toothy grin. She looked away, feeling shy and exposed, and instead met the amused eyes of the most annoying woman she’d ever met. God. Was this how people felt when she marched herself into their business? At twenty-five years old, Hermione decided that she should consider a personality change.

After Andromeda bid them goodbye, Hermione and Draco stood outside the small townhouse, Draco with his hand on the back of his neck and Hermione fiddling with her bag.

“So—”

“I—”

They both laughed awkwardly.

Prompting her to talk with his hand, she spoke. “What are your plans for the rest of the evening?”

“A little debauchery, maybe some murder. Then I’ll sit down with some hot cocoa and read.”

Hermione giggled. “Do you still drink it too sweet?”

“I have just the right amount of sugar when I drink, yes,” he said, lips tilting in an almost smile. Something she missed was the way his elongated fangs peaked out from his thin lips.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. I’m sure you do.”

He narrowed his eyes playfully at her before asking what she was going to do now. Feeling the soft night breeze she decided on an impromptu walk, even though she’d already taken one earlier. Feeling even more impromptu, she asked Draco if he wanted to walk with her.

Draco’s eyes widened in surprise, but he nodded and beckoned her to walk down the steps before him. Hermione’s legs felt like jelly the entire time they walked beside each other. The swish of Draco’s robes against her tights made her stomach flutter with nerves. It felt so long since they’d walked together, and she supposed it had been, and she slowed her pace just to keep their time together.

“How are you, really?” he asked, snapping her out of her reverie.

She bit her lip before responding. “Work is busy. I’ve rarely had a day off since the beginning. Though now that the company has just hired another senior lawyer, I’ve been able to breathe a bit more lately."

“Is that why you were at Lovegood’s work the other day?”

Hermione turned to him. “You were there?”

He nodded.

Hermione’s brows furrowed. “Luna didn’t tell me that.”

“It’s Lovegood,” he said in explanation. Which was fair.

Hermione gestured for him to get on the walkway of the park. She suspected it would rain again as the clouds were gathering overhead.

She coughed before summoning the courage to ask, “So. I heard you were looking for a way to cure your vampirism.”

Draco stilled beside her before letting out a cold, barking laugh. “Thank you, Lovegood, for your endless discretion.”

She turned to him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“I don’t want to be alone forever,” he admitted honestly. “I’m a coward, that much is true. But I can’t bear the knowledge that one day every person I’ve known will have died. That you will—” he stopped himself.

There was a crackle of thunder above them, and in the faint glow, she could see the heartache in his eyes.

“Draco.”

He shook his head, stepping back from her. “I’m sorry. I should go.” He turned away but once again she felt her body move quicker than her brain did and she grabbed a hold of his robes.

“Please don’t go.”

“Hermione,” he said, his voice hoarse, and the sound of her name in his voice made her legs shake. “I—” he cursed. “Don’t let me waste your time.”

“You don’t get to decide how I’m using my time,” she said stubbornly.

He turned towards her, anger in his eyes as he gripped both of her shoulders. “I’ve told you before,” he said, his jaw clenched. “I don’t have a lot of control left in me.”

“Then stop having control,” she whispered, looking him clear in the eye.

He was on her in a flash, backing her up against a tree and kissing her hard, his hands everywhere causing every nerve in her body to light up like a reflection of the storming sky.

She kissed him back with the same crashing need inside her. She grabbed a hold of his collar and pulled him down to her at the same time he picked her up. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing them closer together. And oh, it was pouring now and they were soaked and Hermione’s hands were slipping in Draco’s hair, and her own hair must’ve looked a mess but she didn’t care.

She kissed him and kissed him. She pressed her lips to his until she couldn’t breathe. The need for air finally broke them apart, and she opened her eyes to see him already staring at her, and the devastating adoration he levelled her with as if it were a weapon made her want to cry.

After a moment he set her down. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“I’m not.”

“Granger—”

She stepped forward, palming his wet cheek and sliding her thumb against his cheekbone. “Do you remember when I told you it’s our choices that define us?”

He nodded.

“I want to amend that. Not every choice defines us,” she said. “We are foolish, fickle beings. We make more mistakes than right decisions. And goodness knows you’ve made bad decisions in your life.” He looked wrecked at her words, but nodded in defeat, hanging his head. She took his chin, forcing her to look at him. “But you cannot let the bad ones burden you for the rest of your life when you’ve also made good ones. You are not made up of all of your bad decisions, Draco Malfoy.”

He stared at her for several seconds, his expression hard. And then he cracked. “Forgive me,” he said brokenly, his breath heaving, voice hoarse. “I’m so sorry. For all of it. Hogwarts, the manor. For leaving you because I was too cowardly to let you love me. I should never have—I never deserved you.” He was shaking and tried flinching away from her but she steadied him with a hand on his arm.

“I forgive you,” she said, her voice clear.

“Hermione, I don’t deserve—”

“You have my forgiveness.”

She felt tears burn in her eyes, and let them join the rain on her cheeks. “You get the decision now, to forgive yourself. Free of the burdens of anyone else.”

She took a step back. “Get yourself a wand, you dumb idiot,” she said, smiling wide and free as she stared at him. “I hope the walk to the Floo network isn’t too wet.”

He gave her a wan smile and nodded.

And with that, she apparated away, smiling ruefully as she thought of goodbyes.


Hermione received a package in the mail with two notes. One had instructions on how to wandlessly cast a cleansing charm with a configuration spell for any specific scent the caster preferred. The other, smaller note, a few scrawled sentences that made her heart stutter:

I purchased the same wand I had at Hogwarts. Hawthorn wood with unicorn hair. It was the first time my magic chose for me when I was eleven. I thought I would return to it and make better decisions on what I cast.


What was an immortal life compared to a mortal one? Apart from the ‘living forever’ caveat. And the blood-drinking. Goodness, Hermione wondered. Could she still have a cup of tea without desiring a vial of blood to be dropped in with her sugar? She really should’ve asked Draco this before.

She’d miss laying in the sun for long hours, that was to be sure. But it’s not like she couldn’t be in it at all.

She thought of all the books she could read, should she have all of the time in the world. That was certainly a positive. If she reached a decision, that was.

How would vampire blood taste should she bite into Draco? Surely it must be good, although she wondered how different it was in comparison to drinking human blood.

It was only a few days later that Hermione said to herself that stubbornness was not always the best avenue to direct her life.

She took the Floo powder and called out to Malfoy Manor.

Hermione wasn’t surprised when the Floo connection let her in as she stepped through. She didn’t bother with spelling the soot off her clothes as she almost ravaged the space with her eyes, looking for a shock of blond hair with almost desperate hope.

Draco stuck his head out, eyes widening as he saw her.

“Granger?”

“Hello,” she said awkwardly. She didn’t have a plan for what she wanted to say, and that weird, almost maddening intensity that propelled her intentions to come here waned as she was caught in the onslaught of his gaze. She had to hold the mantel to keep her knees from buckling.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what are you doing here?” he asked.

“I need to know,” she said.

His eyebrows furrows. “Need to know what?”

She walked right up to him until his back was to the side of a bookshelf. “Do you love me? Still?”

He exhaled a breath. “Do you honestly need to ask to know?”

“No,” she said. “But I want us to communicate better with each other.”

He looked at her another moment, and Hermione was almost afraid that she had done an incredibly foolish thing.

One more moment and then he seemed to steel himself. He took her face in his hands, the most gentle of movements, and tilted her face up to look at him.

“I’d say the more correct word that I would use is that you devastate me. You have the ability to ruin me every day if you should so choose,” he said, and Hermione was going to respond but he continued. “And even though you have that power over me, I still want to, no, I still need to choose you.”

Hermione blushed, feeling the binds in her heart that had been slowly but surely tightening over the last three years finally loosening and disintegrating as she stared back at him, and finally allowing herself to accept how starved she was without him. “So you do love—” her breath hitched at the word, and she had to hold back a sob when he brushed his thumb over her cheekbone so devastatingly gentle.

He looked starved as well, tightening his hands around her face as he spoke. “I love you,” he said, simply. Calmly. And she felt both heavy and light all at once as she was finally, finally shown the breadth of feeling he had for her in his eyes.

“What do we do then?”

He raised a brow.

“You know what I’m talking about.”

He set his hands on her shoulder. “I trust you to know what you’re asking of me.”

She nodded.

“I will do it now if you want me to.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I want to be with you, in any iteration.”

Hermione’s cheeks burned. “But you want to wait?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered honestly. “Gods know I love you, but I’ve just started to research the cure for vampirism. And while I want to be with you, I don’t want to rob you of the life of the other people you love.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Draco…”. She reached for him, pressing their foreheads together. “I love you, whether it be me young or old, or immortal and unchanged. I’m yours if you choose me every day.”

“I will,” he said raggedly. “Always.”

She cupped his cheek, meeting those silver eyes. He was a fool to think he was only capable of ruin. “I will always choose you, too. We have time to make our decision on everything else.”

His shoulders visibly loosened and he let out a shaky breath. “Good.”

“Good?” she asked, her body shaking the same way his was against her, but he seemed strong enough to still muster a laugh as he stared down at her, with a look so wistful she felt any of the remaining control she had crumble into pieces, meeting the stubbornness he had also shed on the floor between them, below them now instead of in front.

“If we choose each other every day, then everything else doesn't matter.”

She smiled. He bent to kiss her but she stopped him, remembering she wanted to say one more thing. He nodded his head at her to continue when she hesitated.

“I will tell you now that you are not allowed to play martyr in this relationship. Do not ever put me on a pedestal of virtue. I am stubborn, horribly limited in my ability to look at other people’s perspectives. I think I am always right and I leave half-full cups of tea everywhere. I am not perfect and I demand you treat me as such.”

“Understood. You are imperfect and do not know how to finish your tea. What a terrible Englishwoman, you are.” He pulled her closer. “You are mine, my imperfect witch,” he said, his smile ruinous.

She smiled tremulously.

And that was that.

There wasn’t anything elegant or gentle in the way they suddenly crashed together. Crashed was the apt word as Draco walked Hermione into the bookshelf, the god's damned high bookshelf with Hogwarts: A History digging into the middle of her spine.

She realised this endearing, stupid fact by this stupid man she loved when he told her later that night, and which he apparently knew would make Hermione jump him in both revenge and unbridled, desperate lust.

He tasted so hot it hurt. They ripped each other’s clothes off. Buttons flew, belts clacked soundlessly compared to the beating of pounding hearts, Hermione’s bra somehow landed on a shelf hook, and Draco lifted Hermione bodily, crushing his mouth with hers as he pressed himself to her, her bare breasts pebbling in the cold library. There wasn’t an inch of space between them, they were converging together, years of aching want burning out between them.

She kissed him. Bruised him until he would never forget the way her lips touched his, and he returned her assault with soft, gentle kisses. He took in her despair with a gentleness that told her that he was hers, and she felt tears burn behind her eyes and trail down her face.

“I didn’t want to cry,” Hermione said as Draco reached up and wiped her tears away and kissed across her face.

“‘I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“You were a bastard.”

“I was,” he agreed. “Forgive me.”

He looked at her, breathing ragged as she brushed her fingers across his face, and then fisted his hair.

“I forgive you.”

He exhaled, nodding. And then, it was like something came over him. He dipped his head to kiss her again, pressing himself more intently against her, his kiss desperate. He was no longer exploring, tentative in his gentle intent as he was before. No. This was a direct assault on her senses in a way that told her that Draco had always been holding back.

Not anymore.

That was just as well. She gripped him back, drinking him in as he gave himself to her, and returning her frenetic, desperate energy as they moved in reciprocity.

It felt like they were fusing together, all of the uneven connections between them connecting like electrical wires, startling as they wove together but achingly smooth as they finally merged.

He caressed the soft skin of her thighs as he kissed her. Gods, Draco Malfoy could kiss her dizzy. No matter how many times their lips met she thought she could feel something new. This particular kiss was curved and somewhat sloppy, because Draco was shaking and unsure, and it made her body thrum with desire from the knowledge that she could make him feel this way.

She was not unaffected of course. As much as he was holding her to him, leaving imprints of rough hands and small nips of his teeth against her slim throat, Hermione was giving back in kind.

She wanted to mark him, wanted to possess him in the same way he possessed her. She drew his face up, kissing down his jaw to a sensitive part between his collarbone and neck. She circled her arms around his much larger frame, trying to fit him to her, holding tightly to him to make sure he was real.

She never knew a person could ache for another in such a way. How could she ever think she could do without this? Without him?

Draco’s hands were everywhere. They smoothed down her arms, skated up her ribs, and twisted around the small of her back to arch her against his chest.

And he was doing all of this as his body held hers up. Hermione felt herself squirming with desire, and trembled any time those long, nimble fingers came near her core. Seeming to notice her impatience, Draco teasingly, irritatingly, caressed his knuckles down her chest, making circles around each side of her ribs, and trailing lower still to her pelvis.

The first contact of his fingers pressed to her core made Hermione jerk her hips against his, and she tightened her arms around his shoulders.

Her head fell to his shoulder as he pressed two fingers inside of her, moaning at the not enough but also the too many strokes against her. She breathed harshly against him as he started stroking her in earnest.

“I want to lick you everywhere,” he rasped against her neck, laving her sensitised flesh. “I want to mark you where you can’t hide it with one of your ridiculous scarves.”

“Draco.” She gave a long moan when he suckled the flesh at the column of her neck.

She needed him to stop. She needed him to never stop, resulting in a cacophony of expletives ranging from fuck, just there, and yes, Draco.

His other hand came to tip her chin up to look at him, and she shattered, coming undone beneath his dexterous hands, because it was him.

“Fuck.” He sounded tortured as she came down and gently opened her legs wider, thrusting inside her as she was still coming. The pulsing feel of him made her come again, so unexpectedly that they both gave a ragged gasp.

“Fuck” he said again, slamming his hand against the shelf in what she assumed was an attempt at control. After a few seconds, he brought his arm around her waist, crushing her to him.

Then he took her.

Hermione was distantly grateful for the age-old-shelves as they rattled under the force of the two of them, and thought to ask Draco later what it would take to tip them over.

He brushed her hair back and sunk his teeth into her shoulder, causing Hermione to cry out and tighten her grip; she clung to him as he wrapped his arms around her and sucked her blood.

“I can’t,” she said, feeling herself reach the peak again but also feeling incredibly sensitive that she whined the words out to him, almost tilting her hips away from the pressure.

His voice was heavy with desire as he pinned her in place and kept moving, bringing his fingers down to caress her. “Yes, you can, Hermione. Good girl,” he said, and that gentle circling became a hard press against where she was most sensitive, and Hermione screamed.

She imploded at the same time his thrusts became erratic, white flashing behind her eyes as she spasmed and held onto him for dear life as they fell together, and then they really fell, Draco’s knees giving out as he collapsed to the floor, Hermione on top of him.

Hermione let out a loud laugh against his chest and Draco joined her. “Thank you for taking the fall,” she said as she looked up at him.

He huffed, catching his breath. He looked ravished and Hermione was ecstatic at the thought. “You sound so worried about my body being injured.”

She hummed and kissed his chin.

“I think I could honestly fall asleep right here,” he murmured into her hair, sliding his hands down her back and kneading her spine. She felt treasured.

“Me too. But I need a shower.”

He sighed, groaning as he shifted to sit up, putting Hermione’s legs around his hips and with a grip so strong on her waist she thought that he had no intention of letting her leave.

She looked up at him, smiling wickedly. “I was going to ask you to join me, but if you prefer to stay here, then—”

Draco rose to his feet at striking speed, still holding Hermione in his arms.

“Wimly just restocked the soaps in the bathroom, I will have to inspect them.”

“Oh, really?” she asked with a smile.

“I’ll have to use each of them on you to see which tastes better,” he said with a severe look.

Hermione’s face heated. “You are not allowed to bite me in the bath. The steam might very well cause me to pass out.”

He scoffed. “I’ve been keeping myself away from you for three years, I think I can wait for one more shower.” He brushed against the new mark on her shoulder, watching her with a fierce possessiveness.

Her breath hitched. “I’m sure you can. Now, are you going to put me down?” she asked.

He responded by pressing her into a wall and kissing her again, much rougher and demanding this time.

They didn’t make it to the bathroom for a little while longer.


They woke up later, clean and sated and Hermione feeling wonderfully cherished as she slept on top of Draco’s chest, his arms encircling her waist. She stared down at him as she trailed small fingers around his sharp features.

“So, what are the rules for dating a vampire?” Hermione asked.

He looked at her with a bemused expression. “Why would there be any rules?”

“I was thinking that if there are any rules, I wonder how many I’ve broken,” she said.

Draco looked up at her. “You always have been a rule-breaker,” he said, his fangs gleaming as he gave her a full smile, private and reserved just for her. “I’m sure you’d be expelled.”

She looked at him, affronted, but when his smile widened, she was rendered incapable of anything except for staring at him. She smiled back, in a way that was reserved just for him. And she thought that by the way he stared back at her, vulnerable and devastating, that maybe he’d been rendered incapable of anything but her, too.

Notes:

Tumblr if you wanna come chill: simplifiedemotions.tumblr.com