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Draco splayed the fingers of one hand over his mouth, but it did little to conceal his amused disbelief. "It's absolutely me, Weasley. You're mad if you think there's the slimmest chance you were her best."
"I don't think it. I know it," Ron said confidently, stretching with a languid air of certainty. "You never forget your first."
That's true, thought Hermione. Viktor was definitely memorable.
“Why don’t you two just kiss, if you’re so invested in who's better? Prove it to each other. You’re the only ones who care.”
In the moment, she honestly expected them to laugh it off. But in hindsight, Hermione realized she should have known what would happen.
It'd been years since her brief relationship with Ron. Pansy, nearing her third trimester, had been pregnant with his child longer than he'd even dated Hermione. And Draco certainly had no reason to feel insecure. Despite all that, it seemed they couldn’t get through one friendly post-Quidditch picnic without ruffling feathers.
Why they constantly felt the childish need to one-up each other, she had no idea.
The latest manufactured drama—which one of the two was the best kisser of Hermione's dating history—was among their more superficial spats. But Ron wasn’t known for backing down from a challenge gracefully, so what happened next was only mildly surprising.
He looked at her, calculating. Hermione could see the gears whirring.
The last of a biscuit was casually tossed back, followed by a giant swallow of water. Broad hands braced decisively on the picnic table as Ron swung one leg and then the other over the bench, pushing himself to standing. He made a show of tilting his head side to side, stretching out his neck.
Fully limbered and chest puffed, he made eye contact with Draco.
"Fine. Let's do this."
The table held its collective breath, but Hermione was poised to laugh. As if her mature, rational boyfriend would—
“If you wanted some tips, you could have just asked.”
Draco cleared his own seat, looking entirely unbothered. He slipped his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels, with a fuck you, Weasley, I've already won smirk firmly in place.
“You can't possibly be serious.” Hermione threw her hands up as neither spared her a glance, locked in a staring match. "Bloody ridiculous egos. Fine. Enjoy yourselves."
They faced off, toe to toe. Ron inexplicably shoved up the sleeves of his jumper. Draco’s brow furrowed, but he wasn’t about to be out-prepared; after a moment’s hesitation, he unbuttoned and carefully laid back his cuffs.
Ron scoffed. “Only you would dress like that after a match.”
“Unlike you, I know what Hermione likes.” Draco patiently folded once, twice, three times, exposing an obscene expanse of forearm. “She happens to like my shirts.”
Theo turned in his seat and leaned back against the table to devote his full, delighted attention. "This is going to be much more entertaining than Quidditch, Granger." He propped an ankle on one knee and reached back to collect his glass, tipping it in her direction. "One of your better ideas, I must say."
Hermione strongly disagreed. Given the posture on display in front of her, she would have thought they were more likely to fight than kiss.
It still wasn’t out of the question. One never really knew what to expect.
“Ready when you are, Weasley. I hope you’re prepared to—”
Strategy had always been one of Ron’s strengths. In this case, he took advantage of the element of surprise, pulling Draco forward by a hand swiftly cupped around the back of his neck. The bruising kiss cut off Draco’s challenge with a splutter and a flailing of hands.
After a moment, Draco gathered himself and shoved at Ron’s shoulder. “What are you doing? Did you actually—”
“All talk, no follow through, aren’t you, Malfoy?” Ron wiped his thumb across his lower lip, glaring. “Hope you’re seeing this, ‘Mione. Lack of commitment—”
Draco growled, fingers digging into the wool of an oversized Weasley jumper as he grasped Ron firmly by the hip. He yanked him flush and shut him up with his mouth, but Ron was already primed for action. His fingers found the hair at Draco’s nape again and grabbed. Hard.
Wide-eyed, Hermione observed the clashing of teeth and aggressive locking of lips. She idly wondered if this was the first time she’d actually seen tongues battle for dominance.
She had no idea how long she’d been mesmerized before something even more baffling happened.
The combative dynamic shifted.
Softened.
It was even more compelling. They seemed to wordlessly reach a joint realization: if neither would forfeit, demonstrating skill and finesse was the only path to victory.
The precise moment Draco realized he'd underestimated his competition was easy to spot. It was likely no one missed the way both of his expressive eyebrows slowly rose. From the sound of his amused chuckle, Theo certainly didn’t.
But it was the way Draco’s shoulders dropped—ever-so-slightly, perhaps involuntarily—that sent a little thrill of astonishment down Hermione’s spine.
If she had placed a bet on who would establish control of this kiss, she’d be losing galleons.
“Why is Draco hotter when he's making out with my brother?” Ginny shook her head, fanning herself. “Merlin. Something is wrong with me.”
It took an insistent tug to her sleeve for Hermione to drag her eyes away.
“Are you just”—Harry nodded at the strangely sensual display—“going to let this happen?”
Hermione couldn’t be the only one fed up with their incessant bickering. Letting them make fools of themselves had been the general idea, indeed. No one said they had to take her sarcasm seriously.
But the entire visual—Draco’s hand at Ron’s hip, posture melting under the grip of fingers in his hair, each putting forth their best effort as they kissed with focused determination—well. Even if it was her idea, Hermione could hardly be blamed for her body’s unanticipated response.
Draco was unfairly attractive and a skillful kisser, and this improved version of Ron... Somehow the image of him taking a firm hand with Draco was more appealing than anything he’d done while they were actually together. Pansy must have expanded Ron’s repertoire; Hermione was certain he’d never kissed her quite like this.
“Okay, okay,” she said, stepping into their space and physically separating them. “We're all winners here.”
It took Draco a moment to regain his composure after escaping Ron’s grasp. He smoothed an unsteady hand through his hair and then down his shirt, as if to dust himself off. “That's how it's done, Weasley,” he said, clearing his throat. The bench rocked as he dropped to his seat next to Hermione, in possession of less-than-normal control.
“That's how it's done,” Ron said, pointing a shaking finger in Draco’s direction. “Wanker.”
He strode off toward the comforting familiarity of the picnic spread, casting a bemused glance over his shoulder as he loaded a plate.
Harry broke the stunned silence that settled over the group. “Merlin fuck. I feel like I shouldn't have been watching that. We're lucky they didn't whip their dicks out to compare.”
“Speak for yourself,” Theo grinned. “I don’t know why you felt a need to intervene. It was just getting interesting."
As their friends reacted, Hermione leaned close to Draco, murmuring just loud enough for him to hear. “I certainly hope you don’t leave me for my ex-boyfriend.” She tried and failed to capture his gaze, resorting to nudging his oxford with the toe of her boot. “Did you enjoy yourself? Maybe a tiny bit?”
“Granger.” Draco finally made direct eye contact. “How many books would you say there are in the Manor library?”
Hermione tilted her head at the change in conversation. “...thousands? I'm not sure. You'd know better than I would.”
"In the last five years, how many would you guess you've read?”
"Maybe...a third. Glanced through, at least."
“You feel reasonably confident it would take another ten years to get through the rest?”
"Perhaps." Her lips curved into a smile, sensing his direction. "Unless I really dedicated myself."
He nodded, considering. "There’s a chance I might be ready to discuss what just happened by then. You can ask me again in ten years. Once you've finished all the books."
Although they’d been friendly enough for her to peruse his stacks for several years, it had taken a while to get there. To sift through history, make amends and offer forgiveness. To decide the way their magic sang together was enough to drown out the outside noise.
Hermione’s heart swelled at the implication of a relationship that spanned decades. The promise of a future built one volume at a time felt exceedingly romantic.
But this was neither the time or place to discuss that, so she just ducked under his arm, leaning into his side.
“Are you going to challenge everyone else I’ve ever kissed, to make sure you’re the best?”
Draco shrugged, contemplating the melting cube of ice in his Pimm’s and lemonade. “I don’t know. How many people are we talking about?”
Ginny raised her hand, face smug.
“As if I could forget such a treasured pub night memory, Ginevra.” Draco squeezed Hermione closer. “Any others I wasn't present to witness?"
“Tent in the woods," volunteered Harry. He shot Hermione a fond wink, full of warmth and shared circumstances no one else would ever understand.
Neville straddled the picnic bench next to Ginny, offering her a strawberry tart. “What about a tent in the woods?”
“They’re telling tales about the times they’ve kissed me.” Hermione smiled at Neville’s questioning look. “Go ahead.”
“Fifth year, under mistletoe,” said Neville, placing a hand to his heart. “You made my first-year dreams come true, Hermione.”
“What the fuck, Granger?” Theo gave her a look of mock insult. “Am I the only one here who hasn’t kissed you?”
“Theo.” Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “Eighth year, spin the bottle?”
He stared at her blankly, shrugging at her huff of annoyance. “Huh. Sorry, I was a bit obsessed with your best friend. Nothing personal. I’m sure it was lovely.”
Draco shifted, lifting one leg over the bench to straddle it. He wrapped his arms around Hermione’s waist, tugging her close between his legs.
“Are you going to start making your way around the table?”
"No, but I am going to let you in on a little secret, Granger.” His chuckle was warm against her ear. “Pansy likes it when Weasley and I lock horns.”
Hermione’s nose wrinkled in confusion. “What? Why would she like you fighting with her husband?”
Draco buried his nose in her hair, breathing deeply. Taking advantage of his proximity, he brushed her curls aside and nuzzled the soft skin of her neck. “Mmm. One good squabble with me gets him all fired up, apparently. They get home—if they can make it that far—and he fucks her into the—"
"Okay, okay. I get the idea. So the rest of us are subjected to this discord because...you're Pansy's wingman? Merlin. This is some sort of bizarre foreplay. Draco, you’re their fluffer. You are the reason Ron's going to have fantastic sex today."
"What can I say? I'm a generous man."
“Extra generous, today. Pity she missed the show resting at home. She’s not going to know what hit her.”
He laughed, tilting her chin with one hand. The kiss he gave her stole her breath, sped her heart rate, dampened her knickers. It was incredibly unfair how easily he affected her.
“I can skip the rest of the table; I don't think I have anything else to prove.”
He never needed to be told he was the best she’d ever had. If it wasn’t written on her face, she’d spare herself the ego stroking.
“You could take me home anyway. Convince me I saved the best for last.”
“Jealous, I could understand. Turned on is a delightful surprise.” Draco’s eyes lit as he teased. “Did watching us do something for you, Granger?”
“Ask me in a decade.”