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Every morning began the same way.
Warm sunlight streamed through oversized, double-paned windows. Soft curls tickled his face and smelled of jasmine. An unbelievable sense of rightness bloomed in his chest and sank into his bones.
Draco rolled over, kissed his sleeping girlfriend on the cheek, and thanked his lucky stars for the beautiful life he’d built.
The Black family hadn’t done much good in the world, but perhaps their propensity for naming children after constellations contributed to his good luck. And if that was the case, well, Draco supposed it was a worthwhile trade.
He watched Hermione as she slept, her lips parted and moving in time with her rising and falling chest. The sunlight bathed her in a warm, golden glow, only enhancing her natural beauty.
He looked forward to the life they’d build together—built together. Yes, the proposal and the wedding and all the things that accompanied them lay ahead, but the important parts were there: the trust, the love, the belonging. There was no one he wanted to spend his life with besides Hermione. He was lucky she loved him as deeply.
Draco rolled out of bed, showered, and dressed with precision. He snapped his cufflinks through his crisp white shirt and shrugged on a fitted blazer.
“Oh good, you’re awake.”
Hermione yawned and stretched her arms above her head. She looked around the room in a daze.
Draco chuckled and perfected his hair in the mirror. After a quick reminder about their plans (and snog session—he was only a man after all), he smacked her bum teasingly and hurried her into the ensuite to get ready.
Today was exceptionally special. It had to go perfectly. Draco had spent hours planning their excursion—though if he relied a bit on his house-elves to prepare the food, that was his secret. He and Hermione would never agree on that particular subject, and he knew how to choose his battles.
After some time, she joined him in the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. Draco sauntered over and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “You’re certainly a sight for sore eyes.” She leaned into his touch with a smile.
Draco checked his watch, amazed at how quickly the day was already passing them by. Ever since he started dating Hermione, time passed more quickly than usual. He supposed that was what happened when you were in love and enjoying your life, as opposed to sulking and drinking alone in an empty Manor. Not that he would know anything about that.
“Let’s get a move on,” he ordered. “I want to make sure we have enough time to enjoy ourselves.”
She rolled her eyes and replied with a teasing lilt. “Yes, sir.”
He tucked her under his arm and kissed her head. “You’ll pay for that one, you little minx.”
Once in the gardens, Draco steered Hermione to the picnic spread the house-elves had dutifully set up for him.
All around them, birds chirped, and rose bushes teemed with lush blooms of all colors and patterns. The manor greenhouse could just be seen around the edge of the clearing, and sunlight dappled the trailing vines that crawled up its sides. The blades of grass were soft beneath their feet, stubborn patches of clover pushing up through the mass.
A soft, checkered cashmere blanket lay on the ground, covered with delicacies: crustless finger sandwiches, fruit, artisan crackers, a variety of cheeses from the Malfoy estate in France, and a gorgeous Chenin Blanc from the Loire Valley. In the center was a large, chocolate tart with a ganache center and whipped mousse around the edges.
Hermione gasped at the elaborate setup and immediately began loading a plate with an assortment of riches. She flushed when she caught Draco watching her with a loaded gaze. Holding eye contact, she popped a grape in her mouth and smirked when he tracked the movement of her finger popping out from her lips.
She lay back on the blanket and emitted a contented sigh. Draco eyed the way her sundress hitched up her golden thighs as she stretched out languidly.
“Do you remember our first date?” he asked.
“How could I forget? I still dream about that passionfruit mousse.”
“Ouch. And not the poor man who bought you that passionfruit mousse,” he said in mock offense.
Their first date had gone perfectly, from the moment Draco laid eyes on her midnight blue dress, to the way their hands intertwined while strolling through Diagon Alley. He’d taken her to Le Reflet, the crème de la crème of French restaurants in Wizarding London. She deserved nothing less.
“I remember watching you over the table.” His voice grew serious, and Hermione turned to face him in rapt attention. “Your eyes sparkled, like you knew a secret, and Merlin, I wanted to know it too. There was something different about you, from that first night. And I think I knew it immediately.”
She flushed from his praise and hauled herself into a sitting position.
“I thought I was bloody insane, inviting you back to the Manor. Then you said yes, and it was like everything was going right, for once in my life.”
“We certainly made the most of that night, and the next morning.” She winked playfully. “And afternoon,” she teased.
Draco smirked and gave her a heated look that showed he remembered exactly how they’d made the most of that weekend. “That we did.”
He drew in a deep breath and steeled himself for what was coming next. “There’s something I need to ask you.”
He fingered the velvet box in his pocket, mentally rehearsing the speech he’d practiced hundreds of times—in his head, in front of the bathroom mirror, to an audience of captive but slightly pitying house-elves.
“Hermione.” His voice was deep and rough. He cleared his throat, trying not to betray his nerves.
She paused, mid-bite, setting the spoonful of ganache back on her plate. Draco reached forward and pulled the floral porcelain plate from her lap and set it down gently on the blanket.
“Come here.” He lowered a hand, which she happily accepted, and pulled her to stand next to him. One hand grasped hers tightly, and the other caressed her cheek softly before tucking a stray curl behind her ear.
“Draco.” She shuddered at the light touch, her voice trembling in a hoarse and needy whisper.
He leaned his forehead against hers, their lips a hair’s breadth apart. He cleared his throat and took a step back, never dropping her hands.
“I thank my ancestors each morning for every horrible, brainwashed, despicable decision they ever made in their rotten little lives, because each and every one of those decisions led me here. Led me to you. You enchanted me from day one, Granger, when you waltzed into my office at the Ministry and told me off for not filing the proper Centaur Release paperwork.”
“Well, a mistake like that would’ve cost the department weeks of rework—”
“I know.” He chuckled and brought a finger to her lips to cut her off. “Thanks to one well-meaning, swotty, tenacious witch, I never made that mistake again.”
His lips curved into a smirk. “I was lost from our first date. Your intelligence, your wit, your bravery, your charm. Merlin, Hermione, it was truly magic. You were magic. I knew, even then, sitting across from you at that table, that I was looking at my future.”
“Draco…”
“I don’t want to spend another day without you. If I spend the rest of my days doing nothing but making you happy, that will have been a life worth living.”
Draco knelt on one knee and pulled the box from his pocket. He opened it carefully, revealing a stunning, emerald-cut sapphire surrounded by tiny clusters of diamonds. A Black family heirloom, selected specifically for Hermione from their vaults and double-checked for anti-Muggle-born curses.
“Hermione, you would do me the greatest honor by allowing me to be your husband. Let me spend the rest of my life proving how much I love you.”
His hands trembled as he held out the ring. The three seconds it took Hermione to answer were the longest and most stressful of his life.
“Oh my god,” she choked out through teary eyes.
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes, Draco, yes!” She cupped her hands on his cheeks and bent down to plant a hungry kiss on his lips. Draco grabbed her waist and pulled her to the ground. She let out a small shriek as he rolled them over so she lay on her back, his body enveloping hers.
“I love you so much it hurts,” he murmured, nuzzling his face into her neck. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Me too.” Her eyes sparkled with promise, and it took all of his willpower not to take her right here in the garden.
Instead, he rolled over and maneuvered them to the blanket. The sun was warm and bright in his eyes, but Hermione was brighter.
“What about Christmas?”
She laughed. “What about it?”
“For a wedding.”
“Isn’t that a little fast?” She curled up on her side and faced him, a coy smile playing on her lips.
Draco’s eyes flickered to the neckline of her dress, enjoying the way her position highlighted her cleavage. He licked his lips, and his voice was dry as he murmured, “I don’t need a big wedding. Do you?”
“No, I suppose not,” she hummed. “As long as you’re the one waiting for me at the altar. That’s all that matters, right?”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Draco clasped her hand in his and pulled it to his chest. “We do need a honeymoon. I want time with you, away from everything else—everyone else.”
Hermione sighed contentedly and wrapped her delicate fingers around his wrist. “That sounds lovely.”
“If you could go anywhere in the world,” he said, “where would you go?”
Hermione sighed and closed her eyes, the picture of contentment. “Hmmm. Probably the Library of Congress or the Shanghai Library.”
“Swot,” he teased.
She fluttered her eyes shut and giggled at his teasing kisses down her neck and shoulder. He pulled her into him and proceeded to snog her properly under the warm August sun, nipping and teasing at her bottom lip, something he knew she loved.
Draco couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to spend the rest of his life with this witch. He’d spend every minute of every day proving his devotion, learning what made her tick, and hopefully bringing her a fraction of the joy she brought him.
All was right with the world.
September passed all too quickly. Before Draco knew it, he was welcoming his and Hermione’s friends into their home for her birthday party. He’d set up a casual soirée in the garden, complete with picnic tables and string lights—Hermione’s request.
He bestowed perfunctory handshakes upon Potter and Weasley when they arrived, but was privately glad for their attendance. He knew how much it meant to his fiancée.
When their friends were well-liquored and resplendent under the night stars, Draco took Hermione’s hand and gave her a soft smirk before clinking his glass to capture everyone’s attention.
“We’re happy to have you all here to celebrate the most amazing woman I’ve had the pleasure of knowing. You’re more than any of us deserve, and more than I ever imagined for myself. You’re thoughtful, intelligent, headstrong, have a wicked sense of humor, and I love you dearly. Every piece of my heart belongs to you.”
Hermione wiped a tear from the corner of her eye as she smiled up at Draco lovingly. He heard a few sniffles from their friends, even the notoriously steadfast Ginny Weasley.
Draco raised his glass and looked Hermione in the eyes. “To Hermione.”
Their friends cheered and toasted on their champagne.
“And that’s not all.”
He nodded to Hermione, who took his cue and raised her glass.
“There’s actually something else we’re celebrating tonight,” Hermione added, her lips curving up into a smile. “We’re engaged!”
Her face broke out into the most beautiful grin, and she broke off to accept a series of hugs and congratulations from their friends.
Draco refilled his glass, accepting gruff pats on the back from Blaise and Theo, who were overwhelmingly aware of his long-unrequited crush on Hermione, and therefore ecstatic about this newest development in Draco’s love life.
He sauntered to the dessert table, doing his best not to eavesdrop—okay, maybe trying to eavesdrop—on Potter, Weasley, and Hermione’s conversation.
“I dunno,” the Weasel said under his breath, “don’t you think you’re moving a bit…fast? I mean, dating to engaged in a few months.”
Harry piped up next. “What Ron means is, er, we’re just surprised at how quick everything has been. I mean, it’s Malfoy and all.”
“I know it is,”—what did that mean?—“but when you know, you know, I suppose. It feels right.”
Oh, that was alright then. Draco flushed with pleasure.
Harry nodded and clapped a hand to Hermione’s shoulder. “He obviously makes you really happy. That’s all that matters.”
Draco appreciated the sentiment, but he wished Potter would take his hand off his fiancée.
Hermione gathered her two friends in a hug and squeezed them tightly. Draco tried to tamp down the spurt of envy that rose in his throat. They were just friends, he reminded himself.
He caught the latter part of Hermione’s whispered plea. “…be in the wedding?” Potter and Weasel hugged her again—okay, that was getting old—and nodded enthusiastically.
Once their friends departed, amidst drunken hugs and promises to Floo call the next morning—promises that would surely be forgotten in their hungover states—Draco pulled Hermione back to their room and pressed her back against the door as soon as they were inside.
He inhaled the scent of Hermione’s hair—jasmine, his new favorite scent—and they tumbled into bed.
Draco held her close and buried his face in her neck. He’d show her just how much she meant to him tonight. “Happy birthday, fiancée.”
“I was thinking the Manor gardens.”
“Hmm?” Hermione responded distractedly. She sat in her desk chair, drafting a letter to her parents asking them to meet for dinner so she and Draco could share their exciting news.
Draco moved to stand behind her and smoothed her hair over one shoulder. “For the ceremony. They’ll be quite magical in the winter.” He started massaging her shoulders, working out knots of tension with his thumbs.
“Mmm, Draco, that feels so good.”
He smirked and focused on the pressure points on her back, relishing in the moans of pleasure spilling from her mouth. “So, the Manor Gardens,” he prompted.
“I don’t care where we get married. As long as you’re the one waiting for me at the altar.”
He leaned down and nipped her earlobe with his teeth and whispered, “Let me show you just how much I like the sound of that.”
They hurried to the bedroom in a frenzy of stolen kisses and searching hands. Draco wasted no time, vanishing their clothes as soon as she closed the door behind them.
“Get on the bed.”
Hermione scrambled up and lay down in the center of the bed, her knees drawn up and parted. She couldn’t be more perfect if she tried. Draco paused and took a moment to drink her in, starting with the slope of her neck and the slight sheen of sweat coating her chest, giving her an otherworldly glow. He admired the curve of her ankles, her shapely calves, and supple thighs. His mouth watered at the sight of her glistening cunt, presented to him like a feast.
Draco climbed onto the bed and slotted himself on top of her. He dipped his mouth to her breasts and teased her with gentle, taunting laves of his tongue.
“Draco, please,” she begged. His gorgeous fiancée arched her back underneath him, pressing her warmth into his hardness. He trailed his hands down her waist, then brushed his thumbs along the sides of her breasts, groaning when she bit her lip and moaned his name desperately.
His cock twitched, and he captured Hermione’s mouth in his, nibbling on her bottom lip before sweeping his tongue into her mouth and claiming her as his own. She returned the favor, and when she bit down and sucked on his lip in return, Draco nearly came right then and there.
“Fuck,” he mumbled. “That fucking mouth.”
“Where else do you want this mouth?” she asked playfully.
Draco hung his forehead against hers and groaned loudly. “Don’t fucking tease me.”
“Sorry, love,” she whispered.
Draco moved his hand down her side, grasping and squeezing her waist and hips along the way. He dragged his fingers across her knee and back up her inner thigh. When he reached her core, Hermione’s body clenched with anticipation. Slowly, he dragged one fingertip down her slit, relishing in the arousal already pooling there.
He groaned and bucked his hips into the mattress, desperate for friction. “You’re so wet for me,” he crooned.
“Yes,” she gasped, “all for you.”
He braced two fingers at her entrance and slowly sheathed them inside her warm opening, gasping as her walls clenched around them, holding him in place.
Draco curled his fingers forward and dragged his thumb over her clit in a circular motion, the way he knew she liked. Before long, she was shaking and panting underneath him, begging for release.
“Ask me,” he commanded. Sometimes she relished in being bratty and challenging him, but tonight wasn’t one of those nights. His good girl obeyed.
“Please,” she mewled. “Please Draco, please let me come.”
He buried his face in her neck and sucked, knowing he’d leave a mark. There was nothing he loved more than catching a glimpse of mottled purple bruises where he’d bitten her, knowing he was the only one who could mark her. That she belonged to him.
His fingers maintained a steady rhythm, coaxing Hermione into a crescendo until she was shaking around his fingers and grabbing onto his arm to stabilise herself.
“Oh gods, oh fuck—Draco!”
He didn’t relent, not until she was whimpering from overstimulation and begging him for mercy. Eventually, he acquiesced and withdrew his fingers, sucking them into his mouth and groaning at the taste of her. Her eyes rolled back in her head at the sight, and she pulled him on top of her greedily.
His cock slipped through her folds as he ground his hips, not yet entering her. He trailed wet kisses along her neck and up to her earlobe.
“Tell me how much you need it,” he whispered.
“So much,” she whimpered. “Please, Draco. I need you inside me.”
That, he could do.
Draco rolled over and pulled her on top of him, holding her hips right above his cock. “You own me, darling,” he purred. “Ride me. Use me.”
Hermione didn’t hesitate, sinking onto him inch by inch, lifting off and on a little at a time until she stretched out to accommodate his full size. Draco squeezed his eyes shut and dug his hands into her hips to distract himself. She was so warm, so wet, so tight. So fucking perfect.
She threw her head back and moved with more urgency. Draco pinched her nipples, overcome at the sight of her impaling herself on his cock, her breasts bouncing in time with each movement.
He could feel his arousal building, and he knew what he needed. He flipped her over so she was lying on her back, never once sliding out of her warm centre. He continued thrusting furiously, pulling one of her legs up and to the side so he could fill her even more deeply.
Her freckles glistened in the afternoon sun, and Draco could hardly tear his eyes away from her stunning face. “I want to make you mine,” he groaned. “Fill you up until you’re dripping with me.”
She moaned and arched up into him. “Draco, yes, I want that, please.”
“Hermione,” he pleaded, thrusting into her hungrily, setting a brutal pace. “Let me come inside you. Put a baby in you.”
“Yes,” she whined, “yes Draco. Want you, need you. Fill me up.”
He paused mid-thrust and nearly came right then and there. “Fuck, Hermione. I want that so—fuck.”
She dug her nails into his back and then moved her hands down to his arse, holding him against her. He was so deep, and she was such a perfect fit.
“Only you,” he panted. “Only with you.”
Draco tensed and held off his release as long as he could, which was difficult to do with Hermione writhing and moaning underneath him, begging for his cum.
Her tight warmth was too much to bear, her walls gripping his cock and fluttering around it as she drew closer to her own release.
He closed his eyes and pictured his cum dripping down Hermione’s thigh. The mere idea of marking her, claiming her, impregnating her with the Malfoy heir had him panting and groaning.
He was so close to the edge, but Hermione needed to get there first. She was close too, based on the way her breath hitched and her hips jerked underneath him.
“Touch yourself,” he ordered, and she drew two fingers to her clit, drawing circles that had her panting and spasming around his cock.
Draco marveled all the time at how perfect Hermione was for him. So fiery and stubborn, but downright submissive in the bedroom. She trusted him to give her what she needed, to take care of her pleasure.
And take care of her he did, releasing his pent-up energy to drive into her with abandon until she came with a cry, bringing Draco to the very edge.
“Can’t—pull—out,” he grunted in time with his thrusts.
“Then don’t,” she whimpered underneath him, and those simple two words sent him careening off the cliff, spilling into her with a wretched groan.
Without a doubt, Draco knew he would relive every awful, terrible, torturous moment of his life for the chance to come inside Hermione just that one time. It was the most euphoric sensation of his life, bar none.
When he came down, he panted, wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, and rolled to the side, slinging one of his legs between hers. He watched, fascinated, as his seed dripped down her inner thigh. She moved as if to wipe it off, but he grabbed her wrist to stop her.
Instead, he scooped it up with two fingers and pushed it back inside her entrance. Their eyes met, and their breaths caught.
“Mine,” he growled.
After Draco planted the seed about having a baby, Hermione grew insatiable. No matter where Draco took her, or how often, she begged for more. Within a week, they’d christened the study, the garden, the shower, and the kitchen, and each time, Draco didn’t pull out. The feeling of fucking Hermione with nothing in between them was downright electric. And the feeling of spilling himself inside her? There was nothing like it on earth.
They hadn’t had “the talk” since that night, but Draco knew they were on the same page regarding children. It wasn’t anything he intended to rush, but if it happened, he’d be thrilled. And Hermione would be too.
In October, Hermione spent a whole month with Draco at home, away from work, and he couldn’t be happier. It had taken some convincing, but she’d eventually come around to his thought process and agreed that a break from her stressful job at the Ministry was exactly what she needed.
“Kingsley understood, surprisingly.” She frowned slightly. “He was a bit concerned about the upcoming house-elf proposal, but Albies can take it on. She’s been asking for more responsibilities anyway.”
They lay commingled in a cashmere blanket on the balcony outside Draco’s bedroom. The stars blinked brightly above them.
“I’m glad you were able to figure something out. I’m so proud of all the work you do. But I’m admittedly very selfish when it comes to you.” Draco ran his hand over the curve of Hermione’s waist.
“Yes, well, I’ve realised what’s most important in life,” she whispered. “You. Our family.”
Draco smiled and tucked her in his arms, grateful more than ever for the way his life had turned out.
With Hermione off of work, their days were downright domestic. Draco rose earlier without fail, always beating her to the kitchen and preparing enough coffee for the both of them. And as always, the time passed far too quickly for his liking.
They drank their coffee in the late morning while taking turns reading the Daily Prophet and dreaming up how they’d put Rita Skeeter in her place if they could—the infamous jar was a recurring favorite. How she still had a job writing blasphemous, misguided articles, Draco would never know.
In between news articles, they’d jot down ideas for their wedding and owl them off to Pansy, who had graciously agreed to serve as their wedding planner, lamenting that if left to their own devices, “Granger would elope at the Ministry, and Draco would plan the most obnoxious, self-congratulatory party the world had ever seen.”
Draco was proud of how invested he’d been in the planning. He knew it wasn’t traditional. His father hadn’t lifted a finger when it came to his nuptials with Narcissa. That was “women’s work.” Please. Draco was happy to dedicate time and energy to planning the most important day of his life, for the most important person in his life.
Draco stretched his arms above his head languidly and leaned his neck from side to side, taking a brief break from the financial paperwork he’d been poring over. Adding Hermione to his Gringotts vault would not be as simple as he’d thought, and he wanted to make sure it was done before the wedding.
“Draco?”
His eyes perked up with excitement.
Hermione poked her head in and shimmied past the open door. “Have you seen my wand?”
Draco looked around the messy table, covered with papers and inkwells, but no wand. “No, love.” His lips turned down in a frown as he tried to remember where or when he’d last seen it. “You sure you didn’t leave it in the conservatory earlier?”
Hermione frowned and shook her head. She rummaged through the sofa cushions to no avail.
“Simple fix,” Draco promised, or at least he hoped. “Accio Hermione’s wand.”
A rattling sound echoed from somewhere upstairs. It stopped after several seconds, replaced by a whooshing sound that grew steadily louder, crescendoing when Hermione’s long vinewood wand flew in through the open doorway and nestled itself in her hand.
Her eyes lit up in gratitude and she gave Draco a soft smile, the one that always set his heart aflame.
“Thanks, love.”
“You’ve been misplacing your wand a lot lately.”
“I suppose you’re right. Maybe I’ve got pregnancy brain,” she teased.
Draco’s eyes flashed with heat. The idea that she could be…fuck.
“Come here,” he said genially, a glint of mischief in his eye.
Hermione obeyed, her hips sashaying with every step. Draco tracked the movement greedily and grabbed hold of Hermione, guiding her to sit on the table, her legs spread on either side of his.
“My darling,” he cooed, trailing his hand down her jawline and neck. “My beautiful Hermione. If you’re not carrying our child yet, we’ll get you there.”
She whimpered and wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him close. Draco reveled in the feel of her warm body in his arms as they lost themselves in the throes of passion, marking the library in a way that pleased him to his very core.
Later that night, Draco unknotted his tie and tossed it into his hamper when they entered their bedroom. He took a brief shower and got ready for bed, finishing up in the bathroom quickly so Hermione could have a turn.
He meandered over to their bed, stripping down to his boxer briefs. He stopped short, and his mouth turned down in surprise. The top drawer of his nightstand was open, but he didn’t remember going in there today. Usually, he only kept a notebook and quill in there for late-night ideas or reminders.
“Hermione, love, did you go into my nightstand? It’s fine if you did.”
She shook her head in confusion. “No, I haven’t been in there.”
Draco frowned, the pieces not quite lining up. He shrugged and concluded, “Ah, it must have been Tippy or one of the other house-elves. Must not have shut it properly after tidying up. No harm done.”
Nothing was missing from the drawer, so he closed it and crawled under the covers, relishing in the warmth of the down duvet. The other side of the bed dipped down when Hermione crawled in, and Draco rolled over to meet her in the middle of the bed, holding her close in his arms. They slept soundly.
One dreary Sunday morning, Draco answered the front door, swinging it open to reveal none other than one Harry Potter on his front stoop.
“Potter,” he said sharply, “come in.” He clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry started, eyeing Draco cautiously, but he accepted the gesture.
“Is Hermione here?”
“You mean you didn’t come here to reminisce over our Quidditch glory days? I must say, Potter, I’m disappointed.”
“Maybe next time, Malfoy.”
Draco gave him a smirk, then walked down the hall to call Hermione.
She ran out and threw her arms around Harry in a tight hug. Draco pushed down the rumbly, clenching feeling in his stomach. He knew there was nothing between Hermione and Potter, but it still stung to see them so close. Was it a crime to want to be the most important person in his fiancée’s life? But Potter (and Weasley, to his eternal disappointment) were a package deal. Draco frequently had to remind himself that she trusted him the way she trusted them. That she chose him too.
Hermione grabbed Potter’s hand—Draco clenched his jaw to avoid saying something he’d regret—and dragged him to the study to talk.
Draco paced around his office endlessly. He tried to distract himself by responding to his mother’s letters, and when that didn’t work, he poured himself a glass of firewhisky and settled in with a good book. It was early, but he thought he’d rather earned a stiff drink.
The alcohol numbed him a bit, but it didn’t turn off his brain. After he’d spiralled into a concerning bout of self-deprecation and nearly convinced himself Hermione didn’t love him and was only with him out of pity, it was clear he needed a change in scenery.
Logically, he knew it was his insecurity showing through. Afraid he’d never be good enough for someone like Hermione. Although, could it be called an insecurity if it were true?
Draco sighed and accepted defeat, walking quietly to the study door. He silently cast a sound amplification spell and leaned against the wall to listen in.
Their voices were soft, but he caught the tail end of Harry’s question. “…alright, Hermione?”
“I’ve never been better, Harry. But it’s sweet that you care about me.”
“Well…” Potter drew in a breath here and seemed to pause, for some unknown reason. “We hardly see you. You don’t come to Friday pub nights anymore, and you missed Molly’s birthday supper. That’s not like you.”
She sighed. “I know, Harry. It’s just…well, we’re in the…honeymoon phase, if you will.”
“Gross, Hermione.”
She let out a tinkling laugh that had Draco’s heart swelling with fondness. He memorised the sound and mapped it in his brain.
“I love him. And I love all of you too, this is just a transition point. I imagine we’ll start joining you soon. Provided Draco is welcome.”
Her voice was full of transparent hope. Draco prayed Potter wouldn’t shut her down. He was ready to burst through the door and strangle him if he did, consequences be damned.
“I—of course, Hermione. Whatever you need. We’re always here for you.”
Draco leaned closer, wondering why they’d gone silent all of a sudden. The sound of footsteps approaching the doors had him moving swiftly down the hall. He reached the end and turned back around, like he was coming from the opposite direction. Just in time, he remembered to remove the sound amplification spell.
Hermione and Potter stepped into the hall, and she smiled when she saw Draco.
“Leaving already, Potter?” Draco called.
“Unfortunately. We offered to watch Victoire and Teddy for the day. Can’t let Ginny suffer alone,” he chuckled.
Hermione hugged him tightly and bid him goodbye, with promises to join a pub night soon.
Draco showed Potter out the door, then turned to his fiancée.
“Darling.” He drew her into a warm hug. “If you want to go out with your friends, just tell me. I don’t want to feel like I’m holding you back.”
Privately, Draco had no desire to go to pub nights with her friends—who had never fully warmed up to him, he might add—but he’d never tell her that. In an ideal world, she’d want to spend all of her time with him, but that was wishful thinking.
“Draco,” she murmured, “I spend all of my days with you, and when I’m not with you, I miss you. I love my friends, truly, but I value my time with you even more. Does that make me silly?”
“No, no, of course not, love.” He kissed her soundly on the mouth, tugging her bottom lip between his before pulling back. “I love that you want to spend all of your time with me. I feel exactly the same way.”
Draco watched Hermione as she slept. Her chest rose and fell steadily, her hair splayed over the pillow in a halo effect. She was so beautiful, Draco could never resist the opportunity to be with her. To touch her.
Sometimes, he was taken aback by the voracity of his feelings. Sometimes, he wanted to take her, to mark her, to own her. He’d never felt that way towards any other woman, but Hermione was special. He loved her in a way he’d never loved anyone.
Draco moved stealthily across the room, landing on his feet lightly to avoid waking her. She was sprawled out on top of the duvet, clad in one of Draco’s old Quidditch shirts, which came down to the middle of her thigh. The fabric draped loosely over her, highlighting the curve of her breasts and the soft slope of her stomach. Draco wanted—needed—to get his hands on her.
Maybe tonight was the night. They’d talked about it, once.
“What would you say if I wanted to make you come while you were sleeping? Touch you, use you…”
Hermione smiled. “What would you like me to say?”
“I want you to say yes,” Draco purred in her ear.
“Then yes.” She smirked and pulled his face to hers, drawing him in for a deep kiss.
Draco’s heart rate picked up at the mere thought of taking her while she slept. Would she come in her sleep? Would she make the same noises he’d come to love? Maybe she’d mumble his name, yearning for him even in her dreams.
He closed his eyes and forced himself to slow his breathing. If he was going to do this, he needed to do it right. Take it slow. And not come in his pants two minutes in, like a fifth year.
He crawled onto the bed, slotting himself between her spread legs, being careful not to jostle the mattress too much. He dragged one finger up the inside of Hermione’s calf and thigh, watching her carefully to make sure she didn’t stir. When she didn’t move, Draco grew bolder. He bent his head down and licked a path following his fingers along her inner thigh, stopping right when he reached the hem of her shirt.
Her skin tasted of salt and honey. Divine.
Slowly, he peeled the shirt away from her legs and pushed the hem upwards, exposing the bottom half of her body to him.
Draco’s heart stopped. She wasn’t wearing any knickers. Her glistening folds were bared to him, begging for his touch.
He’d been asking her not to wear knickers to bed for the last few days, but he had no idea she’d listened. The idea that she did this for him, wanted to please him, was so erotic he had to close his eyes and think of something entirely unsexy.
Madam Pince. Goyle. Flobberworms.
Hermione’s breathing was steady. Draco flattened his hand over her thigh and slid it upwards towards her centre. Her skin was smooth and warm under his hand, her thighs dimpling under his touch when he squeezed his fingers around them.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.
With each brush of his fingertips, her breathing picked up pace, but she didn’t give any indication she was waking up. Draco reached out to brush one finger along her folds, massaging her gently. She sucked in an audible breath, and he paused, waiting to be sure she was still asleep.
He carefully moved one of her legs a bit further out so he could lie in between them, supporting himself on his elbows. He leaned his head between her legs, his mouth watering at the sight and scent of her exposed to him, glistening with the beginning stages of arousal. His cock twitched in anticipation.
Hermione was a rare flower, delicate and precious. She deserved all of the pleasure Draco could bring her. He blew a warm breath on her wetness and preened in triumph when her cunt throbbed in response.
“Fuck.”
His tongue darted out to run along her folds delicately. A quiet whimper escaped from her mouth, which had Draco freezing in place, his tongue flat and broad against her warmth.
He resumed his slow laves along her core, focusing on her lips before slowly and carefully turning his attention to her clit. He tested a teasing lick on her bud. Aside from a quick jolt, Hermione didn’t react. Her breathing pattern remained steady.
He teased her entrance with a finger, pushing in gently and watching her face for any hint of a reaction. He got one finger inside before adding a second, nearly groaning at how tight she was.
A soft sound escaped her full, parted lips, something that might have been a word, but she soon quieted again.
He worked Hermione’s cunt until it was dripping and swollen, and her juices coated his chin. Suddenly, he couldn’t wait any longer to be inside her. Not with her splayed over the bed like a wanton goddess, the scent and taste of her arousal pushing the limits of his willpower. Draco quickly removed his trousers and crawled back onto the bed, lining himself up with Hermione’s entrance.
Her lips parted when he dragged the tip of his cock along her folds. Her breath caught when he notched its head just inside her entrance. Her body tensed when he pushed in slowly.
“So good for me,” he groaned.
He entered an inch at a time, pulling back out with excruciating slowness before edging back inside. She was impossibly tight, her walls dragging along his cock with each languid roll of his hips. It took too long for his liking, but finally, finally, he was fully sheathed.
"You're doing such a perfect job," he muttered.
Hermione contracted around him, even in her sleep, and Draco felt his cock throb in response. He wanted to spill into her, to have his cum fill her up and drip down her thigh as she slept, none the wiser.
But he couldn’t wake her up. That would ruin their little game. He thrust slowly, rolling his hips as much as he dared. His entire body shook with restraint.
God, her body was perfect. So soft, tight, and wet for him, even in her sleep. He couldn’t resist pulling her shirt further up and dipping his head down to swirl his tongue around her newly exposed breasts, capturing a nipple in his mouth and sucking gently. Her nipples hardened and her flesh pebbled under his ministrations.
Hermione stirred and let out a soft whimper that had Draco snapping his hips instinctively, desperately. His sharp thrusts jostled her, and her eyes fluttered open.
“What…?” she mumbled sleepily. “Mmph, no, stop.” She clenched her core as if trying to push him out, but he knew better.
“Shhh,” he hushed.
“Let me…” she grumbled, and pushed on his chest lightly, but there was no force behind her sleepy maneuvers.
“Go back to sleep, love,” he whispered, “I’ve got you.”
Draco stilled and waited for her breathing to even out before he resumed his steady rhythm. "There's a good girl."
Every roll of his hips had her breasts bouncing below him and tension coiling in his groin. He was completely overwhelmed at the feeling of being inside Hermione without her knowledge, pleasuring himself with her body while she slept.
He held on to her shoulders as he fucked her with deep, slow strokes. He bit down on her soft, plump bottom lip, then kissed and licked it soothingly.
Her hands came up to his sides, and she twitched underneath him, not quite awake, but maybe not fully asleep.
“Hnnghh,” she slurred.
“Hush, love, go back to sleep.” He continued his steady pace, groaning each time he bottomed out.
“What…?” She kicked her legs and moved her hands to his chest, shoving at him sleepily.
He wedged an arm between her back and the mattress, holding her body in place as his pace quickened. "You want to be good for me, don't you? Then take me like the good girl I know you are."
“Malfoy! Malfoy, stop,” she cried.
But she hadn’t used her safeword. Fuck if he would let her put a stop to this. Not when she felt like heaven around his cock.
“Fuck,” he groaned, biting her neck. “I didn’t realise you wanted to play like that, love.”
The tears tracking down her cheeks only turned him on more. They’d talked about non-consensual role-play scenarios but hadn’t played one out yet. Whatever her reason for starting it, Draco wasn’t going to complain.
“You want me dripping inside you? You must have, looking like a bloody goddess while you sleep. You were trying to seduce me, weren’t you?”
“No, no.” She shook her head back and forth rapidly as she writhed underneath him, her hands gripping the sheets for purchase.
“Don’t lie. You were begging for my cock.”
She appeared to struggle while biting out a response. “No—yes, I was—no—agh! I was—I was begging for it.”
“There’s my good girl,” he praised, rutting into her with abandon. “You belong to me.”
“I belong to you,” she gasped.
“You’re mine,” he growled. “Going to fucking come inside you.”
“Please,” she whimpered.
He groaned and dropped his forehead onto Hermione’s, bringing one hand up to her throat and squeezing lightly on either side.
Her eyes widened, and she reflexively tried to suck in a deep breath.
“You’ll breathe when I tell you to breathe.”
She nodded as much as she could with her throat locked in place.
“You don’t want anyone but me.”
“No one but you,” she choked out.
Draco came unleashed. He set a merciless rhythm, pressing his weight down against her to fuck her into the bed.
Each time she moaned, heat pooled in his abdomen. Each time she wriggled and tried to move out from under him, his cock throbbed in her tight heat. Each time she gasped, her throat bobbing under his hand, he squeezed a little bit tighter.
Tears leaked out from the corners of her eyes, and Draco licked them off her cheeks. She whimpered at the contact and bit her lip.
Draco’s hips stuttered as he drew closer and closer to his peak. He could tell Hermione was getting close based on the way she writhed and canted her hips into his. She panted and gasped his name even with his solid grip on her throat.
Fuck. He couldn’t hold back too much longer. Not with her hands clawing his back and her thighs bracketing his hips as he continued his frantic rhythm.
He moved the hand behind her up to her head, wrapping his fingers through her curls and tugging gently, exposing more of her neck to him.
“Fuck, Hermione. Need you to come soon.”
She clenched around his cock, and he nearly exploded. Within seconds, her legs wrapped around his waist, and she drew a hand between them, circling her clit in that frenzied way that drove Draco mad.
“Who do you belong to?”
“You,” she panted.
“Say my name.” He slammed into her without mercy, driving her closer to the headboard with each thrust.
“Malfoy!”
“Wrong name,” he growled.
“Draco.” His name spilled from her lips in a wanton moan that had every remaining drop of blood in his body rushing straight to his cock.
“Come for me.”
Maybe it was the command that did it, or maybe it was the way he picked up his pace, but Hermione came undone within seconds, convulsing underneath him and clenching around his cock so deliciously Draco thought for sure he’d died and gone to heaven.
He squeezed his eyes and clenched his jaw, focusing on fucking her through her release. Once she was fully sated and limp under his arms, he let his full body weight press against her, fucking her deep into the mattress as he chased his climax. He wanted to envelop her, to own her, to suffocate her.
With a shout, he shattered completely, crying out her name. He held her hips tight to his as he spilled into her, wanting to paint her insides with his release.
“Hermione.” He groaned her name as the final aftershocks coursed through his body. She trembled underneath him, boneless and languid.
“You were perfect,” he crooned.
He extracted himself and cleaned them both up before snuggling into Hermione’s side.
She was quiet.
Draco could almost smell the exhaustion dripping from her every pore.
“Go to sleep, love,” he whispered, and she did.
Draco woke the next morning refreshed, fully sated, and drunk on love. He nuzzled his nose into Hermione’s neck and dragged his hand along the curve of her waist. She twitched under his grasp and mumbled sleepily as she slowly regained her consciousness.
Draco kissed her temple, chuckling softly when she stiffened under his touch. He’d worn her out exceptionally well last night. Nothing a little caffeine couldn’t fix, surely.
His feet padded softly across the mahogany floor as he made his way to the ensuite. After last night, his fiancée deserved a little pampering. He’d make Hermione a French press coffee and blueberry scones—her favourite—then treat her to a long, leisurely day of reading and strolling through the gardens.
When he re-entered the bedroom, Hermione was already dressed and looking around the room oddly. She jumped when she saw him and clasped a hand over her heart.
“Malfoy? What…what are you…what am I doing here?”
He chuckled fondly. “That tired this morning, love? And why on earth are you calling me Malfoy?”
“That’s what I’ve always called you.” She blinked, and her mouth fell open. “Hang on, what did you say?”
Draco strode to her and reached for her hand, pausing in confusion when she stepped away from him.
“Why am I…why was I sleeping here? We’re in Malfoy Manor, aren’t we?”
“Course we are. I don’t know about you, Granger, but personally I think my family’s ancestral home is a perfectly reasonable place for me to live.” He smirked.
“This isn’t funny. I don’t…I don’t remember why I’m here.” Her eyes darted around the room frantically.
Draco frowned, unsure what had gotten into Hermione. She must be more exhausted than he’d thought.
“It’s all right,” he consoled. “We had a relaxing evening, then you went to sleep like normal. You must be extra tired. I did wear you out last night, after all.” He smirked.
“Wore me out?” She tilted her head in confusion, and Draco smiled at the adorable gesture.
“Don’t play coy with me. Or do you really not remember last night?” He twisted a finger through the curl framing her face. “Waking you up with my cock between your thighs. Your little roleplay was a nice touch. Quite exhilarating.” His eyes shuttered in bliss as he replayed last night’s scene in his head.
Hermione’s hands flew to her mouth, and she backed further away from Draco, moving towards the door.
“That’s…that’s…” Her voice trembled, and she shook her head back and forth furiously. “What the fuck are you talking about? Please tell me this is some sick joke.” Tears filled the corners of her eyes. “Please.”
Draco reached for her, distraught when she moved away from him yet again. Distraught and concerned. Something was very, very wrong with Hermione.
Had she hit her head without him noticing? A side effect of a potion she’d taken? Or maybe it was stress. They’d been up to their necks in wedding planning for weeks, even with Pansy’s help.
“Breathe, love. I’m not sure what’s going on, but we’ll figure out what’s wrong with you.”
A trip to St. Mungo’s might be in order. It would disrupt the perfect day he had planned, but Hermione’s health took priority.
“Love?” she choked. “You’ve called me that twice now.” There was an unspoken question in her statement.
Draco tilted his head and searched her face for any signs she was joking. She wasn’t.
“I call you love because I love you. You’re my fiancée.”
“I’m your what?” she shrieked. “This is sick.” She shook her head furiously and looked at him like he was a stranger. “You’re mental.”
His heart was breaking. Someone was stabbing him in the gut with a knife, one million times over. There would be a simple explanation for the memory loss, but knowing she wasn’t in her right mind didn’t make the words hurt any less. If Hermione ever left him…well, he didn’t want to think about that.
“Can I…can I use your Floo? I’d like to call Harry.”
Of course she wanted to call Potter. Draco thought back to the way they’d hugged and clasped their hands together at her party, and then again during his visit. Potter already didn’t like him. This would be just the excuse he needed to wrench Hermione away from Draco for good.
“We don’t need to call Potter. We can fix whatever’s wrong with you ourselves.”
Draco’s chest tightened uncomfortably. He pressed on the center of his sternum with one hand, trying in vain to rid himself of the ache taking up residence there.
“What’s the matter, Hermione? You…I know you don’t remember, but you love me.”
“No, I don’t!”
Draco reared back as if he’d been slapped.
“We’re colleagues, Malfoy. We went on one date, and that was it.”
Draco’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I’d argue that even that first date could be counted as more than one date alone. You did spend the entire weekend at the Manor afterwards.”
“N—no, that’s not what happened.” She shook her head furiously, but her trembling body counteracted any anger she may have demonstrated. “We had dinner, yes. And it was nice. But you said you wanted more, and I wasn’t looking for anything serious, so we agreed—we agreed it was for the best if we didn’t see each other. You invited me to the Manor for tea the following weekend—as friends, you said. I came over, and we talked, and then…”
“Go on.”
“I can’t…I can’t remember!” She backed away from him in horror and wrapped her arms around her front, as if to shield herself.
“I know we joked about it the other day, but do you think there’s a chance you could actually be pregnant? That can mess with the brain—hormones, and such. We should go to St. Mungo’s and have you examined.”
Hermione broke down and shattered. There was no other word for it. Tears dripped from her eyes in full force, her entire body wracked by sobs. “Malfoy, I can’t…I need Harry…please.”
Draco’s heart broke at the pain in her voice and on her face. He’d been tortured by Bellatrix and the Dark Lord himself, but he’d choose that every time over one more minute of witnessing Hermione in such agony.
She collapsed onto the floor in a heap and buried her head in her arms, hugging her knees tightly as she cried and rocked back and forth on the floor.
“What did you do to me?” Her voice trembled, and the accusation in her statement broke something inside of Draco.
“Do? I would never do anything to you.”
“Then explain to me why I am here.”
“Because you are my fiancée,” he growled.
“Stop it!” she shrieked. “Just, stop it.”
“Hermione, please, let’s figure this out together. If you calm down, we can—”
“Calm down? Calm down? Are you absolutely mental, you horrible, despicable…” She broke off into hiccoughing sobs and reached for her wand.
Draco panicked. She wasn’t listening. Why wasn’t she listening? He realised she wouldn’t let him help her as long as her memory issues remained. This version of her didn’t trust him. Wasn’t real.
If he wanted to help Hermione, he couldn’t let her leave before they worked through this.
Draco braced himself and whipped his wand from his trouser pocket before she could react. “Expelliarmus!”
Hermione’s wand arced neatly through the air and landed right in his outstretched hand.
Her eyes grew wide with shock—no, fear. Draco wanted to vomit; he hated causing her any sort of pain.
“Give me my wand,” she spat.
“Not until we work this out.”
Hermione darted around him to the door, but her eyes betrayed her, flicking to the exit a moment before she took off. Draco beat her there.
She grabbed a hold of his arms and put all of her strength into trying to throw him off of her.
“Fuck!” he cursed.
Hermione dug her nails into his bare neck and scratched as hard as she could. Draco winced and shoved her backwards, only hard enough to move her off of him, but not enough to make her fall. She charged him again, this time trying to sweep his legs out from under him, but her small body was no match for his frame.
“Stop it, you insane witch! I’m trying to help you!”
Draco spun around, narrowly avoiding an attempted knee to the groin. He had barely righted himself when Hermione reached for a paperweight on the nightstand and swung it near his head.
He threw his hands up and ducked to avoid her blow. “Bloody hell, woman!”
Hermione was a danger. To him, and to herself. He needed to stop her.
Every muscle screamed in protest as he pointed his wand toward her, but he couldn’t lose her now. Not after everything they’d been through.
Draco thought carefully about his options. He could call Harry, like she asked, but he hadn’t liked the way Harry seemed…protective of her the other day. Hermione swore he was like a brother to her, but he didn’t necessarily trust his motivations. No, that wouldn’t do. Plus, Potter still didn’t like him. He’d probably assume the worst and think Draco had done something.
He could bring her to St. Mungo’s. That’s what he should do. Then again, in the public’s eyes, he would always be a former Death Eater. One who narrowly escaped Azkaban. Could he be sure they wouldn’t arrest him on suspicion of hurting Hermione? Or worse, take her away from him?
No, he couldn’t do any of those things. He had to keep her here, with him. Keep her calm.
The incantation slipped out of him without thinking. “Imperio.”
Draco loosed a sigh of relief, even as a fresh wave of horror overcame him. Hermione calmed down instantaneously, her face smoothing over into the pleasant and curious—if not a little anxious—expression he knew and loved well.
“Come here, darling.” He opened his arms and she fell into them perfectly, like she belonged there.
He stroked a hand over the back of her head, smoothing her curls and murmuring words of comfort in her ear. She was back. It was temporary, until they figured out what was wrong, but he had her back.
He opened his nightstand drawer with one hand and placed Hermione’s wand inside before closing it. It’s not that he wanted to take her wand, but it would be better if she weren’t able to access it while he figured out how to help her. Not until she was back to normal.
In the silence, Draco’s stomach lurched. He hadn’t used the Imperius curse since sixth year, and he thought he’d never have to. He trembled as he clutched Hermione more tightly and breathed heavily into her beautiful, jasmine-scented hair.
What if she never recovered from this mysterious ailment? What if the Healers couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her? Draco would rather die than live without her for the rest of his life.
He’d pour his entire inheritance, all of his gold, into medical research, if that was what it took. But he had to hope they’d know what was wrong. It would be an easy fix, he was sure of it.
Hermione’s hands rubbed his back soothingly, and he melted into her comforting touch.
They would get dressed and then go to St. Mungo’s. He would explain what happened, how she’d woken up with a damaged memory and didn’t remember anything about their life, how they fought, and how he…he…
A creeping tendril of dread wove its way up his insides, binding his organs tight and cutting off his airflow. He’d Imperiused Hermione. The love of his life. His betrothed.
He couldn’t exactly barge through the front doors of St. Mungo’s and announce what he’d done. They’d throw him in Azkaban without a trial, warranted or not.
As soon as they restored Hermione’s memories, she’d surely leave him. And why wouldn’t she? She deserved so much better than the likes of him.
How could he ever face himself again? He was a monster.
Something niggled in the very back of his mind. A feeling like he’d had this thought before, like he’d lived this exact moment. Déjà vu. But that was impossible.
Draco cupped Hermione’s face in his hands and kissed her forehead. She let out a soft, breathy sigh that had his cock twitching in his trousers despite the gravity of the situation.
It sounded exactly like the breathy sighs she emitted when he…no. Purely coincidental. Of course she made the same sounds while under the curse and not under the curse. She was the same person, after all. Still, just to be sure…
“Hermione.” He tilted her chin up and met her eyes. His stomach flipped at her warm, trusting expression.
“I was thinking about our wedding. What if we held it at the Manor Gardens? They’re lovely in the winter.”
Hermione smiled and covered his hand with one of her own. “I don’t care where we get married. As long as you’re the one waiting for me at the altar.”
Draco’s stomach dropped.
Wasn’t that what she’d said a few weeks ago when they had this same conversation in the gardens? And then again, in the study? It had to be a coincidence.
But the way she’d fought and seemed so certain. If she’d lost her memory, why would she remember their first date ending differently? Unless...had someone tampered with her memory? With his memory?
He shook his head and tried to clear his thoughts.
No, no, no, that wasn’t possible. She loved him. Loved him. This couldn’t—he wouldn’t…
They were getting married, for Salazar’s sake. He’d proposed, and she’d said yes, and all of it was real, because it had to be, because there was no other explanation that wouldn’t result in his complete and utter ruin.
It was just this once. One time. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, the tension in his forehead nothing compared to the unease barreling through his body. He shook his head and muttered unintelligibly. Yes, this was fine. This was the first time. He could come back from this. Couldn’t he?
A cool palm cupped his cheek. Draco leaned into the touch out of instinct. Her fingers were so soft and delicate.
“Draco…” Her whisper ricocheted like a Bombarda in the silence.
He opened his eyes. Hermione’s concerned, loving expression ripped through him like a knife and demolished any remaining shred of sanity.
He tore away and raced to the bathroom, heaving up the contents of his gut into the toilet. His fingers, pale and trembling, clung to the porcelain bowl in desperation. Nausea flared up, agitating his empty stomach lining. He retched, over and over. The bile burned his throat on the way up, and he relished in it.
Once his stomach emptied itself and his tremors subsided, Draco stood up shakily and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
Hermione was sitting on the edge of the bed when he re-entered the bedroom. Wild curls spilled over her shoulders. She smiled at him, bright and genuine, that smile he loved so much. Draco’s heart swelled with affection, and he knew in that moment that he was lost. There was no coming back from what he’d done. Not ever.
She was an angel. Perfect.
And he was broken. Not fit for consumption by her, or the world.
He wiped the tears away from his face.
But he was a weak man, a lovesick fool. And he would do anything to hold Hermione one more time. To whisper confessions in her ear, to promise her all of the good that was yet to come. Anything to bask in the glow of her love for just one more day.
One more day of being in love. Of pretending. He could do that. He needed it.
When the Imperius curse wore off, he’d deal with the fallout. But that was tomorrow’s problem.
The only hope he had of making it out of this unscathed was forgetting that he was capable of such harm. Tomorrow, when they woke up, and Hermione forgot again, he would deal with it. Tomorrow, he would let her Floo Potter. Tomorrow, he would let her walk out the front door, not knowing if he’d ever see her again.
Tomorrow.
But not today.
He turned his wand on himself, closed his eyes, and whispered one solitary word.
“Obliviate.”
-
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Every morning began the same way.
Warm sunlight streamed through oversized, double-paned windows. Soft curls tickled his face and smelled of jasmine. An unbelievable sense of rightness bloomed in his chest and sank into his bones.
Draco rolled over, kissed his sleeping fiancée on the cheek, and thanked his lucky stars for the beautiful life he’d built.