Work Text:
Hermione closes the door to the flat with a heavy sigh.
Dust has gathered on the surfaces of the furniture and a box of decorations haunts the corner of the living room. She meant to put up the Christmas tree weeks ago, but there just hasn’t been time.
If she isn’t at work, she’s at St. Mungo’s Hospital.
As the weather began to grow cold and the final months of the year slipped away, she still held on to a glimmer of hope that things would be better by now. That Draco would return to her.
There would be a reason to decorate their space, to celebrate the season.
However, Christmas is now mere hours away. And her husband remains in a coma, the dark curse cast on him still corrupting his magical core.
There will be no miracles this holiday.
Harry was kind enough to stay with Draco while she ran home to shower and collect a few things before she returns to spend the evening at the hospital. Most nights, Hermione manages to tear herself away from his bedside even though she hates sleeping alone in their bed. However, she knows it’s what Draco would want for her.
Besides, she has to take care of herself if she’s ever going to find a way to counter the jinx. She knows that rest is imperative, even if all of her free time is spent dedicated to research.
Friendships have been neglected, as has any social life she might have previously had.
As if on cue, her mobile rings. And even though she would rather not answer, Hermione knows she can’t avoid the people in her life forever. She can’t expect that Harry will be her sole source of support, not when he has his own family to take care of.
“Hi, Ginny!” she says, trying her best to sound cheery. “Happy Christmas.”
“Mione! I didn’t think I’d reach you! I know what horrid service you get at St. Mungo’s.”
“I’m at home now—”
“Oh, lovely! Mum wanted me to ask you to join us at the Burrow for dinner, or in the morning to open presents, if that works better for you.”
Hermione grits her teeth, inhaling slowly through her nose before releasing a soft exhale. She knows her friend means well, but this is, in part, why she was so reluctant to take the call. It always ends this way, with Ginny and others pressuring her to join them for a night out at the pub or a trip away for the weekend. And while she appreciates their good intentions, she has made it clear time and time again that her priority is Draco.
They were more understanding in the immediate aftermath of the Auror mission that robbed Hermione of her husband. Especially given that he had thrown himself into the line of fire to protect Harry, who had just welcomed his first child with Theo. However, it’s been over two years since that happened. Most of her friends seem to think it’s time for Hermione to move on with her life.
They never say it so bluntly, but it’s always there...
An unspoken sentiment that colours interactions like this one.
“I’m just popping in to grab a few things,” she hears herself saying. “Then it’s back to the hospital for the night—”
“Isn’t Harry there?”
The question is merely perfunctory. By now, Ginny knows the routine.
“Yes, but—”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind staying there for a few hours longer. Charlie is visiting, and I’m sure he would love to catch up with you.”
Bile rises in her throat, heat building in her veins as her temper threatens to get the best of her. Woodenly, she makes her way through the flat, past the photos of happier times, toward their bedroom. It’s best to give herself something to do as she navigates what is sure to be a tricky conversation.
There might have been a time when she and Charlie could have been happy. He’s certainly handsome and passionate about his work, a trait Hermione admires. They had even gone out once, a few years after she left Hogwarts. And she had a good enough time.
That was before Draco, though. No, that’s not right. It was when she was still trying to deny the feelings she had for her former nemesis. They were partners at the time, a joint effort by the Auror Office and the Department of Mysteries to solve a rather tricky case involving illegal time-turners.
A week after that date with Charlie, she kissed Draco for the first time—a release of unresolved sexual tension that culminated in a rather inane argument. That was when Hermione knew that he was the one for her.
“Mione?” Ginny says, interrupting her thoughts. “Are you still there?”
“I appreciate the invitation, but I’m going to spend the holiday with my husband. Give Molly my love, let her know I’ll be sending a basket via owl. I have to go now.”
With that, she ends the call before Ginny can respond. Then, forgoing the shower, she slings her overnight bag over her shoulder and makes her way back to the Floo.
The rest of the evening passes how it always does.
There are fewer people around than usual, given that many of the staff are at home with their families. Still, Hermione recognizes a few familiar faces. She sits by Draco’s bed, her fingers twined with his as she scours another tome on ancient dark magic that Theo managed to find in his manor’s library.
As the hour grows late, snow begins to fall outside the hospital window. The world is blanketed in white, the snowflakes shimmering beneath the pale moonlight. The scene is lovely, a reminder of one of her mum’s favourite holiday songs.
I’ll be home for Christmas, you can count on me
Please have snow and mistletoe and presents by the tree
Christmas Eve will find me where the love light gleams
I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams
She can nearly hear Bing Crosby crooning the words and if she closes her eyes, she can see Helen and Henry spinning by the twinkling tree in her childhood home. It’s been years since she has actually seen her parents, but she hopes they’re having a good holiday, wherever they are.
Pinching her eyes shut, she pushes away the memories. There’s no use in crying over them now, the family that has long since been lost to her. While it will always hurt to miss them, Draco is her family now.
“Happy Christmas, my love,” she says, leaning to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Come home to me, as soon as you can. I’ll wait however long it takes.”
Her eyes start to feel heavy, exhaustion finally catching up to her. It would be better to transfigure the chair she occupies into a cot, but then she wouldn’t be able to stay by his side.
And in these lingering moments of Christmas Eve, Hermione just can’t bear to be parted from him. Thus, she falls asleep with her head resting against his bed, his hand wrapped in hers.
✦
The surge of magic is the first thing Hermione notices upon waking.
She’s still groggy and more than a bit disoriented, but she would recognise the sensation anywhere. It’s Draco’s magic that has reached for hers, the signature unique to him.
While most married couples in the wizarding world usually opt for a more modern wedding ceremony, she and Draco chose to honour tradition—to bind their magical cores together.
This is how she feels the shift in his, even before he stirs.
Even so, she can hardly believe it’s true.
This is the moment she has waited for, the moment she has dreamt of ever since that horrible day when she got the dreaded call. Harry had been the one to contact her, but he was so distraught that Hermione couldn’t even understand what he was saying. Ultimately, it had been Gawain who broke the news that Draco had been injured in the field, that he was in critical condition.
In the aftermath of this devastation, Hermione had never given up hope that Draco would return to her.
It was a promise he made when they married.
Still, there’s a part of her that wonders whether this is all just a figment of her imagination. Then, he opens his eyes and looks at her. Even her mind cannot conjure the exact shade of grey of his irises. No memory could ever capture the way he looks at her—as if she hung the very sun and moon in the sky.
“Hermione?” he says, voice rough from disuse.
All she can do is nod, smiling broadly even as tears stream down her face.
“What happened?” he asks.
“You were in a coma.”
“A coma? For how long?”
“A little over two years.”
“Merlin,” he exhales, trying to sit up before falling back against the pillows on his bed. Rather than allow him to overexert himself, she settles onto the bed next to him and cradles his face in her hands.
“I’ve missed you so much, Draco.”
“I’m sorry for making you wait so long.”
He offers her a small smile, a gleam in his eyes as he takes in her features. Resting her forehead against his, Hermione luxuriates in this moment, in their reunion.
“You’re back now, and that’s all that matters.”
✦
Draco isn’t released from the hospital until Christmas afternoon. Even though he appeared to be in good health, tests had to be run, vitals monitored to ensure no traces of the dark magic lingered.
In the end, his recovery stuns even the most experienced healers. It makes no sense, by the standards of their field.
And while Hermione is curious to a fault, she finds that the how isn’t actually that important to her—not in this case, at least. All that matters is that she has her husband in her arms. There’s little use in wasting energy questioning the universe, in trying to decipher what has allowed her this Christmas miracle. They have so much lost time to make up for.
She had called Harry while the healers examined Draco and asked that he share the news with the others, promising to catch up with everyone in the new year.
For now, he needs an opportunity to rest.
And she needs his undivided attention.
Of course, Hermione has every intention of prioritising Draco first. She has a whole plan, in fact. Once they get home, she’ll get him into the bath while she makes his favourite meal.
Then, he can sleep, fully recover his strength.
Draco, it seems, has other ideas.
The moment they cross the threshold to their flat, he pulls her into his arms. His lips are insistent as he kisses her, his tongue brushing the seam of her mouth until she grants him entry. A groan rumbles through his chest when he tastes her, his hips pinning her against the wall. She can feel the effect she has on him, the hard line of his erection pressed to her hip as he tangles his hands in her hair, holding her open to him.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against hers. “I thought the healers were never going to finish their tests. I’ve wanted to do this for hours.”
He pauses to kiss her again—his mouth slotted to her mouth, his tongue sliding against hers.
“I wanted to do far more to you,” he continues, “but Merlin, it feels so good just to kiss you again.”
“The feeling is mutual, my love, but you need to take it easy. Sex can wait until after you’ve got some more rest.”
He snarls, the sound animalistic.
“I’ve rested for seven hundred and thirty-four days. I need my wife.”
Then, he lifts her into his arms. His fingers dig into her arse as she wraps her legs around his waist. His cock is slotted against her cunt, fueling the fire that his kisses sparked.
He holds her body flush to his, chests pressed to one another.
Hearts beating in sync.
“We should be cautious.”
Her protests fall flat, in direct contradiction with the way she rolls her hips against him. An involuntary movement, controlled entirely by lust rather than logic. Hermione wants to be selfless, to put his needs before her own. She can’t deny how badly she wants him, though.
The two years without him have been pure misery, her fingers and toys hardly enough to satiate her need.
Nothing can compare to how Draco feels.
“To hell with caution,” he says, his desire mirroring her own, “but if it’ll make you feel better, you can ride my face. That way I’m not overexerting myself…” He smirks then, the expression causing her pulse to leap. “Taking it easy, just like the healer ordered.”
“Draco!” she gasps, laughter spilling from her.
His teeth dig into the tendon of her neck, his tongue laving over a spot just below her ear.
“C’mon, baby. Don’t make me wait. Let me show you how much I missed you.”
Hermione is helpless to deny him.
She always has been ever since the first time they fell into bed together. How funny that she had meant to wait until after their fifth real date, at least, and cartons of Indian takeaway over case files didn’t count.
Yet, despite her best intentions, she ended up shagging him on her couch after several glasses of wine to celebrate when they finally caught the wizard who was causing havoc to the space-time continuum.
And from that point on, she could never get enough.
There was always an intense heat between them, even when they hated each other. It morphed from loathing to passion to love, a fervent flame regardless of the shape it took.
Now, the inferno roars like fiendfyre, lighting every nerve in her body. Draco is the only cure, the only way this blaze will be quenched.
“Take me to bed,” she murmurs.
“With pleasure,” he says, his smirk growing devilish.
She laughs again, her chest feeling lighter than it has in years. It almost feels too easy, to fall back into the same routine that they always kept before. This banter between them feels like a warm spring breeze, a welcome embrace after years of frigid winter.
Of course, there’s still so much for them to discuss. Yet, in this moment, all Hermione can do is enjoy the gift she has been granted.
“I missed you so much. And I’ve especially missed your cock.”
“No one keeping your bed warm in my absence?” His tone is a perfect balance of mirth and levity, but there’s a tightness around his eyes. “I wouldn’t blame you if you had. You’re a beautiful woman, one with needs. If I can’t be here to tend to them, then—”
“Stop,” she says, her finger across his lips. “I made a vow to you when we married and I’ve kept it. But even if we weren’t married, I wouldn’t ever stray. There’s no one but you. There hasn’t been and there won’t be. So, you had better start making up for all the orgasms I’ve missed out on.” She presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, pleased to see tension melting from his features. “Since you refuse to rest.”
“As my witch commands.”
The trip to their bedroom takes more time than it should, what with the way Draco can’t take more than two steps without pressing her to the wall so he can kiss her.
By the time he sets her on the mattress, Hermione is near the brink of madness, her cunt throbbing and desperate to be filled. She doesn’t have the patience to wait for him to undress her.
She knows how he works.
He’ll drag out the torment, leave her a panting, sobbing mess by the time he decides to give her the tiniest bit of reprieve.
Normally, she would delight in these games. She trusts that Draco knows, even now, exactly what she needs. It doesn’t matter how much time has passed. He is intimately acquainted with her body, with the way likes to be touched.
However, she can’t bear the thought of not being joined with him. It’s been too long since she felt his skin against hers, sticky with sweat. She needs to hear the slap of his hips as he carves a space for himself inside her, the groans he makes at how good she feels. The way he says her name when he spills himself inside her.
And she isn’t above underhanded tactics to get what she wants.
Reaching for her wand, she vanishes her clothes and his.
A look of appreciation washes over his features, the same one he wears any time he sees her naked. She has teased him about it many times before, but privately, she revels in the unadulterated devotion that lights his eyes. No one else has ever looked at her this way, as if she is the most beautiful woman in the world. Never has any partner taken such great delight in an act as simple as admiring her bare form.
Yet, even though Draco has seen her like this on countless occasions, he acts as though it’s a rare privilege, as though every time is the first time.
His gaze flits from her chest to the apex of her thighs, greedy.
The flush that stains her skin deepens, slick arousal leaking from her. Emboldened, she spreads her legs open for his viewing pleasure and drags her fingers through her folds, not bothering to stifle the whimper that builds in her throat.
Then, with her eyes fixed on his face, she brings her fingers to her mouth. That jolts him into action, his body covering hers as he crawls onto the bed.
“I dreamt about you, you know,” he says.
His voice is like gravel, hoarse with want.
A shiver races up her spine.
“What kinds of dreams?”
“The best kind,” he says, his lips brushing against hers. “You spread out for me, just like this. Pleading for me to fill you with my cock. Telling me how good it felt, how badly you wanted my cum. Begging for me to give you a baby.”
She laughs, the sound breathless even to her own ears. Her arms wind around his shoulders, legs bracketing his hips to tug him closer.
“I’ve never begged.”
“Don’t ruin the fantasy, love.”
“Fine,” she acquiesces with another smile. Her cheeks hurt from how happy she is. “What happened afterwards? Did you give me what I want?”
“Always. I live to please you.”
“Pretty words will get you nowhere, Malfoy. I need action.”
He glances up, meeting her gaze with a dark look, pupils blown wide.
“I’m going to taste you first.”
His teeth dig into her bottom lip when she tries to protest, tugging before he laves the plush skin with his tongue. Her next attempt to persuade him involves rolling her hips, dragging her wet heath along the length of his erection. That only earns her a sharper bite, a hand at her waist to keep her in place. Then, Draco makes his way down her body, pausing to place kisses on the ladder of her ribs and the scar just above her hip bone.
He doesn’t waste time, though.
Her back bows from the bed when his tongue brushes against her folds, a low moan spilling from her as her hand finds purchase in his hair.
All protests are forgotten as he devours her cunt with a singular focus, as if there is quite literally nothing more important than bringing her pleasure.
Even her most vivid memories can’t compare to the way it feels to have Draco between her legs. He laps at her like a man desperate to satisfy his thirst. Every slide of his tongue pushes her closer to the edge. His groan reverberates against her skin, the bridge of his nose pressed against that sensitive little bundle of nerves as he buries himself in her cunt.
She falls apart with his name on her lips, euphoria surging through her veins and delivering the most exquisite orgasm—a rapturous, incomparable sensation.
Magic brings the air around them to life when she pulls him up, her hand at the base of his cock guiding him to her entrance.
As delightful as it was to have his mouth on her, she can’t wait any longer.
If Hermione was in possession of more restraint, she might allow him to prepare her a little more. They have come together enough times for her to know that a lack of additional foreplay will surely be felt.
However, patience has never been a virtue and after so long without her husband, she is ready for whatever pain might await her.
It’ll be worth it, to have him inside her again after so long.
Draco sinks into her slowly, torturously.
He watches her expression, silent as he gauges her discomfort. And, to be completely fair, it does hurt. His considerable girth means that she has to stretch to accommodate him.
Even as her muscles cling to him, pulling him further into the depths of her body, there’s still a sting. Still, she relishes it. Welcomes it, even.
The ache serves as a reminder—as proof that this is real. It isn’t a fantasy that her mind has conjured. He’s really here, in her arms.
A sigh of relief escapes her when he’s fully sheathed within her cunt, a tear sliding from the corner of her eye, one that he kisses away.
“I love you,” she says, pulling him close until his weight presses her into the mattress. She can’t bear even a modicum of distance between them.
“I love you, Hermione. I love you so much. I’m so sorry.”
“Hush,” she says as she brings his face to hers. “You did the right thing. I’ve never been more proud of you, as a wizard and as my husband.”
Words fail him, but she can see the gratitude shining in his eyes, can feel the extent that he missed her with the way he rolls his hips.
Time comes to a stop, the world around them falls away. All that exists is the two of them. The sorrowful years spent apart are promptly forgotten in favour of the way it feels when their bodies are joined so intimately. Already, she can feel the coil winding, the pressure in her pelvis building as the fire beneath her skin begins to take form again.
His movements are halting, grinding. As if he also can’t stand to be parted from her. Still, the head of his length catches against that sensitive spot inside her, the one that always makes her see stars.
Draco pushes his tongue into her mouth, soft like silk. A direct contrast to the rigid line of his erection. The sensations threaten to overwhelm her, the peak so close she can nearly taste it.
“Come for me, pretty witch,” he says into the kiss, his hips stuttering as she clenches around him. “I want to feel you come on my cock.”
A strangled cry tears from her throat as she obeys his command, the second orgasm washing over her like waves battering against the shoreline. Hermione can tell that he’s trying to hold on, to fuck her through the peak of bliss. Yet, in the end, he can’t resist the way she flutters and pulses around him, milking his cock until he spills inside her.
This is how it was meant to be. This is why it was worth the wait, even when others thought she was a fool for holding onto hope.
Regardless of how bleak his prognosis seemed, she never lost faith that he would come home.
✦
Hermione wakes to find herself alone, panic surging in her chest as her mind races, wondering whether it truly was all just a pretty dream.
Then, the sound of water filters through the anxious haze. Looking toward the suite in their bedroom, she sees steam filtering from the shower, smells the familiar scent of his body wash. Silently, she sits up, the sheets pooling around her waist before she slides them off completely and swings her legs over the edge of the mattress.
Her feet hardly make a sound as she pads across the carpeted floor, the cool air making her nipples grow pert. Opening the door to the stall, Hermione appraises her husband for a moment, maximising on the fact that he has yet to notice her presence.
Streams of water dance along his skin in rivulets, his white-blond hair slick against his head as he stands beneath the showerhead. He’s leaner than he used to be, the atrophy in his muscles an expected outcome of the time he spent unconscious.
While there are spells that help magical persons in a coma to maintain general good health, there is nothing that can replicate the hours upon hours he spent in weight training and cardio exercise. It hardly matters to her, though. Hermione has never seen anyone more handsome.
“You can’t just abandon me like that,” she says by way of greeting. “When I woke up to an empty bed, I thought maybe you were just a figment of my imagination.”
He turns toward her and tugs her under the warm spray of water, a smile spreading across his face. Her heart stutters, cheeks growing flush at the way he looks at her.
“I’m very real. I can promise you that.”
“Maybe you should prove it.”
“Again?” he asks, correctly guessing her lascivious intentions. “I thought you would be sore.”
Hermione tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, biting back a smile as she shakes her head. Brazenly, she reaches for his cock, her fingers brushing along the length of it.
“I told you there were a lot of missed orgasms to make up for.”
“My insatiable little minx.”
“Yes,” she agrees. “Yours.”
✦
As the twenty-fifth of December bleeds into the twenty-sixth, Hermione and Draco find themselves tucked on the couch by the fire.
Lights shimmer on the tree in the corner of the room, a quick bit of magic transforming their space into a proper, festive home. There are even presents, ones that she has bought and wrapped for him over the past two years. A few that he had selected for her before the accident happened. Neither of them pays the gifts much mind, though.
After a rather fantastic shag in the shower, they found themselves back in bed. She was on top that time, her head thrown back and hands pressed to his chest as she took and took and took. There will be bruises in the shapes of his fingertips on her hips tomorrow, the blood vessels beneath her skin bursting from the force with which he held her.
All the better.
Dinner was a simple affair, the sandwiches that she managed to scrounge together a far cry from the elaborate dishes they used to make to commemorate the holidays.
Even so, it’s one of the best meals she has ever had.
A contented sigh escapes her as she burrows further against his chest, his fingers in her hair lulling her into a state of utter contentment. Still, something he said earlier keeps her from succumbing to sleep entirely.
“Did you really dream about me?” she manages.
He pauses, briefly. Then, “Yes.”
“I didn’t realise people dreamt while they were in comas.”
Another stretch of silence greets her. She waits, despite the way her nerves buzz restlessly. Better to give him time to collect his thoughts.
Finally, after what feels like hours, he says, “It was hard to tell the difference between dreams, memories, and reality. I could hear what was happening around me at times, but I didn’t always recognise that it was actually happening, if that makes sense.”
Hermione hums her assent, her fingers dancing along his clavicle.
“Some of the dreams were so vivid that they felt real, but yes, I dreamt of you often. I could feel your presence when you were in the room with me, and I suppose my mind conjured images of you whenever you were away.”
“Only when I absolutely had to be.”
“I know, baby. I couldn’t have asked for a better wife.”
He presses a kiss to the crown of her head, shifting them both so that he sinks further into the couch and she is nestled even more tightly against him. All she has on are knickers and one of his jumpers and Draco only wears a pair of joggers, but the heat that radiates between them is enough to keep her warm.
“You would have done the same if the roles were reversed.”
“Yes, but I never deserved your love to begin with, so of course, I would do whatever it took to prove myself worthy of you.”
Pulling away, she levels him with her most angry scowl.
“You are deserving and worthy, Draco. I hope you didn’t jump in front of the curse directed at Harry just to prove yourself.”
“I did that because I didn’t want little James growing up without a father.”
“Further confirmation that you’re a better man than you make yourself to be.”
“Agree to disagree,” he says, tugging her close so he can kiss the corner of her mouth.
“You’re just avoiding an argument because you know I’m right.”
“I’m avoiding an argument because I know you’re right.”
Hermione rewards him with a beatific smile before resting her cheek against his chest once more. His fingers resume their ministrations, tangling with her curls.
Peaceful quiet settles on them once more.
Several minutes pass this way before Draco asks, “Have you spoken to my mother?”
Immediately, she stiffens in his embrace.
“No, not since you were first admitted to the hospital. I tried multiple times to update her, but she never took my calls or answered my owls.”
“I’m sure Lucius forbade it,” he says, sighing.
“I figured. Why do you bring her up?”
“She came to visit me.”
“Oh,” Hermione says.
“I don’t think she was supposed to be there.”
“She wasn’t. I didn’t want to keep the two of you apart, but your father tried every trick in the book to have you released into their care. I didn’t know if I could trust her, so I asked the hospital staff not to allow any visitors other than the ones I had approved ahead of time.”
“I understand.”
“I’m sorry.”
And she means it. Hermione hated having to make such a difficult decision, but given how strained Draco’s relationship with his parents was after they married, she knew it was for the best.
“You don’t have to apologise,” he says, as if reading her thoughts.
A finger curls beneath her chin, tilting her face toward his.
“I mean it,” he says. “I know how Lucius is.”
Tears pool in her eyes, unbidden.
“I was so scared,” she admits. “He was hellbent on making it seem like our marriage was a sham, like I shouldn’t have any legal say in your care.”
“I think he was getting close to figuring out a loophole, some means of taking you to court and having the Wizengamot rule in his favour. Mother came by. I’m not sure when—time is a little different when you’re unconscious. I just remember her voice telling me that if I truly cared about my wife, I needed to find a way back.”
“The healers can’t explain how you managed to overcome the curse.”
“Would it be too trite to say that it was the power of love?”
“Yes,” she says, wrinkling her nose and laughing.
“Well, there might be more to it, but that’s the only explanation I can find. Mother said to come back to you, to protect you. So I did.”
“To the power of love, then.”
Closing the distance between them, she pillows his lower lip between hers.
“To the power of love,” he agrees, reciprocating the kiss.
The fire crackles loudly, as if to concur. The tree seems to shine more brightly, the lights gleaming as magic surges between her and Draco. And outside, the snow continues to fall, painting an enchanting scene.
For the first time in years, it finally feels like Christmas.