Work Text:
Hermione Granger was pointing at him.
“Mione’, you can’t be serious.” Weasley whined.
“I said I want him.” Granger stated again.
Her words sent a zing straight through Draco’s body, though he knew she wasn’t saying it in the way his libido had perceived it.
How Draco found himself in this monumental mess, he didn’t quite know.
Actually, he did quite know. It was his penance for completing his Auror training in less than a year, and taking down more baddies than the Ministry knew what to do with.
He had shut down a total of 16 dark wizarding operations in under 5 years. His Occlumency was so proficient and his Legilimency so desirable, that it made him the most sought after Auror for interrogation (his lack of empathy for vile, disgusting excuses for dark wizards tended to garner good results in that area).
His years of training as a curse breaker beforehand didn’t hurt either.
In short, he was a damn good Auror. Definitely better than Potter and Weasley.
In fact, he was sure that was the reason Granger’s dark eyes were upon him now, as the rest of the room shifted uncomfortably.
“Hermione…” Potter said tentatively. “Ron and I can protect you just fine.”
It took monumental occluding for him to seem disinterested, but he found he was extremely interested in this case.
Granger had announced she was running for Minister of Magic.
The death threats came a day after. They had flooded the ministry, the DMLE, the Minister’s office, and most recently, Granger’s home. Granger didn’t seem perturbed by this in the slightest. She ignored the millions of flyers that popped up overnight, heinously calling her a Mudblood, among some other choice words.
It was Granger’s fearlessness and disinterested attitude that made Draco feel flush under his Auror robe.
It was only at the request of Shacklebolt that she was conceding to constant protection.
“I know you can protect me,” Granger placated, “but these aren’t normal circumstances. These are dark wizards, in control of old blood magic. There is no one who knows pureblood, dark magic the way the Malfoy’s do.”
He could hear Potter and Weasley bickering quietly, saying things to change Granger’s mind. But she didn’t appear to be listening to them at all. She only folded her arms over her (extremely nice) chest and continued to stare directly into Draco’s eyes.
Draco didn’t look away from her, but it was close. So very close.
“Fine.” he said, his deep voice resonating around the room.
Potter and Weasley stopped to look at him. Weasley looked feral, Potter confused.
“Granger’s right,” Draco continued, “No one knows Dark Wizard’s like I do. I can set the protection wards.”
“Fine, but we’re in charge of protection detailing.”
“No.” Draco said. He thought his voice had echoed before he realized that Granger had said the same thing.
Draco inclined his head and she nodded for him to go on.
“They’ll tail you, probably send spies, knowing that anywhere you go could lead them to Granger. You should both keep your distance for the next few weeks until we can figure out a long term protection plan.” Draco said. “I’ll shadow Granger for now.”
Weasley looked close to saying something despicable. Draco hoped he would. It might knock some sense into Draco about why he shouldn’t be in close proximity to Granger.
“Auror Malfoy is right,” Shacklebolt spoke up from where he was quietly watching everything unfold, “I need the best to protect my best.”
Shacklebolt looked warmly to Hermione, who’s cold demeanor froze a little under his gaze. Seeing the softness of her features made Draco’s pulse spike.
Merlin help him, he was so screwed.
Draco had very mild interactions with Hermione Granger in the last 10 years - they mostly ignored each other, except for the occasional moments when she was nice enough to acknowledge his presence.
She was cold and calculated. She moved swiftly and quietly to the top of the Ministry chain, so unlike her younger self from Hogwarts. Draco sat in hearings where she gave multiple verbal lashings to bigoted, pig-headed, frankly-too-old-to-still-be-alive Wizengamot members. He watched in pleased silence as she took a shit on their egos.
She had managed friendly relations with most of his friends - Theo being her closest confidant. Thick as thieves, those two. And here Draco thought Theo was his best friend.
Draco kept his distance - not just from her but from everyone. There wasn’t a single thing another person offered that tempted Draco into losing focus on what his goals were.
But he couldn’t deny the magnetic pull he had towards her.
He could feel that force as he made his way towards her mountainside cottage.
From a distance, it looked little more than a run down shack. He ran a quick test against her wards and determined that they were strong. He’d fly a few stronger tests at them to see what needed reinforcements. And of course, add his own special protections.
The wards shimmered in front of him - the signal Granger was admitting him.
He immediately realized what a good job Granger did in protecting herself, if the three-story, ginormous fairytale cottage was anything to go by. It was a light blue, with brown shingles - soft lights glowed from inside, giving it a cozy feel.
Draco’s senses were assaulted by a floral smell. Roses, he knew. Roses like he had at his own house.
Granger was just a few feet from where he was, standing stoically with her head held high. She had piled her curly hair to the top of her head, an orange furball at her feet. She was in pajamas, which inexplicably made Draco’s pulse skip.
“Did this need to be so late at night?” she asked.
“Your schedule only allows for certain times.” Draco said finitely, his tone as neutral as possible.
Granger nodded. She was looking him directly in the eye again, like she had earlier. To Draco, it felt intense. But he was used to intense stares - everyone always fucking stared.
“Thank you for doing this.” Granger said, but her voice sounded stiff.
“Your wards are strong.” Draco said instead of answering. “I’ll run some darker spells, and strengthen them to withstand the nastier ones. I’ll come once a week to check them. I’ll be adding more as well.”
“Which ones are you adding?” She said, sounding less cold than before. Curious.
“A blood ward.” Draco said, careful to keep his tone void. “It’ll trigger when someone comes over the threshold with serious malintent.”
“I have a blood ward.”
“Not yours. Mine.”
With that, Draco turned on his heels, walking as he ran a series of diagnostic spells. It was silent for a moment, and then he heard Granger’s footsteps crunching behind him.
“Why would you put up your own blood ward?” she asked.
He merely turned to raise an eyebrow at her, but didn’t answer. He knew he didn’t need to.
Granger grimaced, but conceded to what she really wanted to ask. “Doesn’t a blood ward outside of a Malfoy property jeopardize your magical lineage?”
“Yes.” Dracon responded, continuing to throw spells and add strength to her wards.
“And you don’t care about that?”
Something fluttered under his breastbone, the annoying feelings he kept locked away coming up towards his brain. Not when it’s you.
“No.” he opted for instead.
Granger was silent as he continued his onslaught on her wards. After a few moments, he was satisfied with what he had accomplished. Only one thing left.
He pulled a vial of his blood out of his cloak pocket and used his wand to draw the rune.
“Malfoy,” she said, and she placed her hand on his bicep. It paused him, although internally he could have been hit by a train. He chanced a glance down at her hand and then up at her face. Her brows were furrowed as she looked up at him.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said, “At most, these are some idiotic, scared wizards who’s bark doesn’t come close to my bite.”
Draco regarded her again - the confidence blazing through her. The small trace of a joke in her face, gone before he could chase it further.
“I know what these idiots are capable of,” he ground out. He lamented when she removed her hand from his bicep, but she didn’t step back.
She needed to understand.
“They’re out there, and they believe they’ll have a world where they rule. And I’ll throw myself in front of every curse and spell before I let another innocent person fall pithy to their vitriol again.”
Hermione simply raised an eyebrow at him, not nearly as scared as most when he spoke like this.
“Is it one of your goals to make sure all dark wizards fear you?” she mocked lightly, a grin playing at her lips.
Draco had to resist a grin of his own. “It’s my only goal.”
Granger hated the constant surveillance - in fact, she outright stated it when she crashed into Draco’s office on an oddly quiet Tuesday morning. She came in like a whirlwind, a small blast of magic making his papers fly everywhere.
Draco was well trained to not outwardly respond to surprises - although he wished he could tell his heart that the sight of Granger, red in the face and chest heaving, was not a reason for it to speed up.
“Your Auror’s are insubordinate and incapable of protection.”
Draco merely raised an eyebrow at her. With a flourish of his hand, he wandlessly gathered all the papers that had gone flying, as well as wandlessly silenced the room.
He knew better than to hope it would impress Granger, although he found himself hoping it would.
“Pray tell,” he deadpanned.
“Do you have a single Auror capable of not speaking unless spoken to? Or one capable of not stepping on my robes while walking places?”
Draco did know the exact Auror she was referring to, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “You’re friends with two of them, why don’t you tell me?”
Granger only looked at him, silent and unimpressed.
Draco took a deep breath and let it out noisily, “They’re all highly trained in dangerous situations, which means if anything goes wrong, they’re capable of protecting you.”
“As you well know, I’m also highly trained in dangerous situations,” she ground out, “And somehow I manage to not step on people’s clothing.”
There was silence in the office as they came to this impasse. The red still hadn’t faded from her skin, and Draco congratulated himself on watching only her eyes as she calculated her next statement.
“I think the protection detail is a waste of time and energy. Not to mention resources. The very least you can do is send Auror’s a tad less fidgety. They’re more afraid of me than any potential threats. It is, frankly, really fucking annoying.”
It was probably the most forward thing she had said to him yet. Draco found himself almost soft smiling at her, something he never allowed unless he was three fire whiskeys deep with Theo.
“Fine,” he said, shaking the soft feeling off. “I’ll do it myself.”
Granger rolled her eyes, “They’re not gonna let their most highly sought after Auror leave his job to protect me.”
He didn’t use a single brain cell before saying, “Protecting you is my job. It’s probably the most important thing I’ll ever do.”
For a moment, he wished he could take it back. But when Granger’s whole demeanor changed from enraged to confused, he took in every ounce of this side of her he hadn’t ever seen before.
“You’re a dark wizard catcher. You’ve done many important things.”
He never let a compliment go to this head - but this one? It shook his entire chest.
“When you successfully become Minister of Magic, you’ll be proving what I have been trying to do all along. Nothing I have done amounts to anything if someone like you isn’t up there actually changing the Wizarding World.”
Hermione’s gaze had gone from confused to understanding. Like she had just solved the Draco sized puzzle in her path.
And while he never wanted her soft look to leave him, something bigger inside of him didn’t want to be figured out.
He wandlessly removed the Muffliato. “I’ll do it from now on.”
He hoped Granger knew a dismissal when she heard one.
Theo was waxing on about Granger again.
“She’s brilliant.” he said.
“I know.”
He wondered if Theo had heard anything he said in the last half an hour, now that he had downed two bottles of Draco’s expensive, 100 year old, Elvish wine. Far too precious for the very casual Thursday night they were having.
“And she’s not afraid of anyone, not even people threatening her life.”
“I know.”
“And she’s almost gotten through to the Wizengamot about making sure my lycanthropy cure research has more funding, you know?”
“I know.”
“And she’s absolutely gorgeous.”
“I kno-” Draco had caught himself, but it was too late.
“Aha!!!” Theo said, jumping out of the chair and only stumbling for one step. Which was more than Draco would have given him credit for at the moment.
“So you do think she’s beautiful?” Theo accused.
“I do have eyes, moron.” Draco countered back. It wasn’t his best, but responses were getting harder.
“Ohhhh,” he all but squealed, falling back onto his chair. “I think it would be perfect.”
He was looking starry-eyed over at Draco, elbow on the chair, hand on his cheek, goofy smile on his face.
“What would be?”
“You and Granger.”
Draco tried to scoff but it got stuck in his throat and he ended up having a small coughing fit. It sent Theo into a tizzy, giggling and kicking his feet.
This night was becoming humiliating. But these nights were the only ones that Draco had where his rage and anger didn’t feel like they were at the forefront of his life. It was the only time he could truly just be. And so all he did was try to glare at Theo.
“It would be.” Theo said softly. “You both don’t put up with bullshit, you’re both workaholics, and you guys are completely soft in the same way. Oh! And you’d have gorgeous children.”
Soft in the same way. Draco’s addled mind actually did allow himself to think about how soft something between them might be. Draco could see her in the soft light of a bedroom, with her comfortable pajamas and hair fully loose, fully immersed into a book. How soft her skin would look and feel under his touch as he moved her under him. The way she’d fit there.
“Okay, so you do like her, then?” Theo’s voice broke through. “I was nervous you were holding on to school boy gripes.”
Draco glared at him. “I don’t like her, and I’m not holding onto any childhood animosity. I’m protecting her until she becomes Minister and changes the Wizarding World for the better.”
“Mmm, she will change the world, won’t she? It’s how I know you’re basically salivating over her. Anything to piss off the supremacist.”
Draco would be irate if this comment had come from anyone else. But Theo knew him better than anyone. Theo was there.
So Draco simply picked up his glass and inclined it towards Theo. “Anything to piss off the supremacist.”
Draco took over complete detailing of Granger.
For her comfort only, of course.
When she actually was The Minister, she would have a personal protection detail at all times, specifically trained to protect The Minister position. But in the meantime, it was up to Draco.
And if spending time with Granger set his spirits high… well, it was just a consequence of how much he loved seeing the death of pureblood culture. And if that made her infinitely more beautiful to Draco, well... that was a conversation for a Mind Healer, he was sure.
As far as Draco had tracked, no one had made good on their threats of killing Granger. There was one incident, when she was making a speech, where a rogue spell had been blasted off.
Draco had pulled Granger down just in the nick of time - but the pull had her small frame pressed against his chest.
“Oh!” she had yelped out, as her arms went around his middle. Her face landed directly under his pecs.
For a second, Granger’s arms tightened so hard around his frame, he could almost say she was scared. But when he looked down at her, her face showed no sign of fear. Instead, it was flushed red down to her chest and her breathing was labored.
“Sorry.” she muttered out, unable to look at him. Strange.
He released her, however reluctantly, as Potter and Weasley arrested the man whose firework charm had gone awry.
“Theo says you’re not nearly as scary as you put on.”
Draco was sitting in a chair in Granger’s office, reading one of the books from her shelf about Mermish culture.
“Theodore is lucky he still has a tongue to speak with.” Draco commented back, slowly flipping a page.
Granger hadn’t stopped scratching her quill across her parchment. “I don’t think you’re nearly as scary as you put on, either.”
After a moment of silence, Draco said, “I’m not daft enough to think that I could ever scare you . I watched you look a deranged sociopath in the eye and lie, as she carved into your skin.”
Draco heard Granger’s quill come to a stop.
If he had pressed too far, he really shouldn’t care. He wasn’t known for his softness or his ability to gently guide emotional conversations. But an unknown feeling climbed up his throat - something akin to guilt. He had no control over looking up to meet Granger’s gaze.
He wished he could say that after three months he knew every look she gave - he had certainly watched her close enough. But whatever look she was giving him now was indecipherable.
The silence was long, bordering on awkward. But Draco had grown up in Malfoy Manor - awkward bouts of silences were something he was particularly good at.
Her eyebrows knit together, before speaking again, “Is that the reason you do what you do? Because of what you saw in the Manor?”
Crap - he opened that door right up for her. His knuckles tightened where he held the book but otherwise, fair was fair.
“Yes,” he said, putting the book down, “and no.”
“Pray tell.” she countered, with a hint of sarcasm.
She had turned her full attention to him now, and as always, being the object she was focused on made Draco’s skin break out into goosebumps.
“You mean, do I catch and commit legal torture on blood supremacist because of the acts committed when my belligerent and incarcerated father allowed a power-hungry, sociopathic Half-Blood to live in our house while he actively tried to commit mass genocide? Yes, I do.”
Draco shifted in the seat, so that his body was more relaxed in the chair.
“He allowed me to believe that I was not only better than wizards like you, but that I didn’t need any protection, because being a Pureblood would save me. But it didn’t save me - not from being tortured, not from almost being killed in front of my own mother. Imagine my dismay in realizing the only person who could save me was the same person I had hated for so long.”
Hermione continued to be silent, although he could tell he had peaked her attention immensely.
“Imagine my joy now, in knowing that the only person who could save us all going forward is someone he taught me to hate.”
He caught her smirking briefly.
“I wasn’t brave enough to fight back then,” he said, coming up on his limit of how much he could reasonably share about himself before he broke out into hives. “But I’ll do whatever I can now.”
With that, he averted his gaze back to the paragraph on Mermish-English language barriers.
Her voice floated back, “And so you don’t anymore?”
When he looked back over, she cleared her throat a bit, her eyes going away from his for a brief moment. A tell that she was nervous.
“Hate me, that is.”
Draco could have ripped his skin clean off.
“No, Granger.” he said, his voice unexpectedly dropping low. It felt horrendously intimate. “I don’t hate you.”
The men at the ministry were relentless in trying to get into Granger’s pants. Whether for notoriety, or because they thought their masculinity far outwayed her prowess, Draco didn’t know. But he finally snapped on one of them.
After what Draco considers to be a firm No from Granger, one of the scaly, slimy men from the Department of Magical Games and Sports decided to pull her back around by the shoulder.
Draco had his neck pressed against the nearest wall, feet barely touching the ground before the man can even sputter out a useless Hey!
Draco, as usual, displayed a level of strength that should come with angry words and tones. But his voice was level, as he glared at the man.
“I believe she gave you the answer you deserve. Touch Future Minister Granger again, and I’ll have you holed up in a Ministry cell for assault.”
He can tell the man is about to make a rude comment about Draco and his past, by the way the man’s eyes narrow and his face morphs into anger, so Draco tightens his hand around his neck, rendering his vocal cords useless.
He glances over Draco’s shoulder, surely at Granger. And whatever he sees must also scare him, because he nods as much as he can. Draco holds for a second and then lets him down with a flourish and uses his strength to push the man in the direction from whence he came, never breaking eye contact with him. The man coughs all the way down the hall.
People are staring, Draco knows. But as per usual he doesn’t care. Draco adjust his cuffs and then turns towards Granger. She has her head tilted, eyes narrowed, in a playful way, with an amusing expression. For a moment, they just stare at each other.
Then Granger says, “Where were you at all of the Ministry Gala’s I’ve attended over the years? I surely could have used your help then.”
“Never been.” Draco says back, and they both start walking towards her office again. “But I’d be happy to protect you at the next one, should you need the assistance.”
Draco wishes everything he did wasn’t so calculated - he wishes he can pretend things like this just slip out. But that simply isn’t him. He knows what he’s saying has a double meaning, but at the very least he can morph his face into something akin to just a plain offering to protect her.
Granger does seem flustered for a moment, suddenly fiddling the papers in front of her with a “Hmmm.”
Flustering Granger had become one of his favorite things to do. Making her smile, making her laugh, getting her angry. Bickering with her late into the night, having discussions over muggle books. It makes them both looser with each passing day.
It has Draco grabbing her tea alongside his. When he grabs dinner, he offers to grab hers as well. He knows her order from four different restaurants. He knows which books she gravitates towards more than others. He knows her handwriting by heart, from the letters they write to each other and the little notes she leaves in the margins of the books she lets him borrow.
He’s suddenly appalled by how well he knows her, all while consciously trying to keep his feelings and actions professional.
“Okay.”
Her voice startles Draco out of his quiet wanderings. “Okay?”
“Okay, you can protect me at the next Gala.” He can hear the soft smile in her voice.
Her gaze sticks with him late into the nights.
“Your wards have been tampered with.” Draco said, approaching her house about four months into the endeavor, and Granger’s campaign.
Granger seemed less frightened, and more thoughtful. “You think it’s a baddie?”
“I traced the signature and it looks like it was. I’ve set traps in the surrounding woods, now that I know that someone was here, I’m going to take all the precautions I need to to catch them.”
“What kind of traps?” she asked, leaning on the doorframe, eyeing him wearily.
“It’s better if you don’t know my means of torture.”
Again, no trace of fear or concern in her eyes, just pure curiosity.
Draco was once again reminded that this was the girl who stared death in the face and continued forward.
“You think things will get worse now that the election is a month away?”
One month. It lingered over Draco most days; it’s all the time he realistically had left with her.
Draco hadn’t wanted to get attached, but after nearly four months of constant contact and her company by his side, he couldn’t actually imagine his days without it. He might have even called her his friend. But he didn’t fantasize about a life with his friends nearly as much as he did with Granger.
It had crossed his mind that there was a solution to this - ask her out. Straightforward, this time.
It seemed so simple on the surface, just ask her to dinner.
But it felt like an iceberg, the underneath of it so much deeper. The layer and nuance of their shared past made Draco’s tongue freeze up. Chats about books and bickering over semantics could only take them so far. And right now, her safety was more important than any feelings Draco had. He was good at this - putting his job before himself.
“I do.” he answered after a moment. “I think it might get worse once you are appointed. But by then, the Ministry guards will have control so you should be as safe as possible.”
He didn’t look at her. He was afraid of knowing how she felt. He wondered what would feel worse - if he saw nothing at all on her face, or if he saw something?
“You should be safe for tonight.” he said.
“I don’t doubt it.” she murmured softly.
Draco did look at her then - she looked exhausted, but as always there was the strong reserve. It put her mouth in an almost perpetual frown, wrinkling her forehead and chin. It was a picture to him, the image he saw of her even behind his eyelids. He could find her anywhere, pick her out of any crowd. Something so intimate and so foreign, his throat burned.
“Goodnight, Granger. I’ll see you in the morning.” he said, and turned away. The simple act of it had gotten harder and harder these days.
He heard her whisper, “Goodnight, Draco” before he apparated away.
Granger swept a win so mighty, Draco found himself grinning from ear to ear.
In her home parlor, she and her closest friends listened as the results came in
This wasn’t just a win for her, but a win for everything Draco had been fighting for for well over 10 years. She smiled at him and surprised him by coming over to throw her arms around his neck and hold him close. Wrapping a single hand around her, the other paralyzed at his side, he manages to press his head into the crook of her shoulder, his lips almost accidentally brushing against the bare skin of where her neck is exposed.
She pulls back to be greeted by other friends, and he knows that the Minister's official guards will soon arrive to protect Hermione. As thrilled as he is for her win, his job is done. And now that his job is done, he has no reason to not ask her what he always wanted to.
And he will. When she has a quiet moment, when the night is almost over, he’s going to ask her.
And it all could have gone very well, if Draco hadn’t taken a curse aimed at Hermione.
“I have to open the wards, for the new guards.”
And because it’s still his duty to protect her, he goes with her silently. He also knows he should probably remove the blood ward, but he’s been toying with the idea of leaving it up. At least until he knows the Ministry guards are competent enough, which he doubts.
Hermione opens the wards, and then it’s dark and silent. They’re side by side in the quiet. Soft sounds of celebration behind them.
It’s the perfect moment.
When he turns to look at her, she’s already staring. Something wistful in her expression, almost coy.
“Thank you. For keeping me safe.”
Draco’s mouth has gone suddenly dry, but he manages a small, soft smile. “Of course.”
And because he knows what he’s about to ask, he squeezes in a whispered, “Always.”
This sets her eyes alight. He watches her smile spread wide, almost ear to ear. And it bolsters him.
“Granger, I –” is all he gets out before the wards start to shimmer.
They both watch as the guards step forward. A deep pull yanks at Draco’s gut. And he knows Hermione can feel it too.
Someone has activated the Malfoy blood ward.
Draco steps in front of Hermione, yanking her behind him. He’s so distracted by the action of it, that he only has a moment to see the spell flying at them.
His Protego isn’t the weakest one he’s ever cast, but it’s pretty damn close. The spell manages to nick his side and then throw him backwards, against a hard branch on the ground.
Something crunches inside his chest. It’s not pleasant but Draco has had much worse. He’s up on his feet and searching for Granger, who is already racing to his side.
The guards have turned their wands to the traitor, but it’s too late. The blood ward did it’s job.
The flesh of the traitor is burned clean off. There’s some screaming, but eventually their vocal cords get melted too. They’re burning from the inside out.
All Draco can say when Hermione looks back at him horrified is “I told you, you didn’t want to know.”
Shirtless in Granger’s office was not how Draco saw his night going.
Oh, who was he kidding? Shirtless in her presence was where his imagination spends most nights.
The fuming silence from her, however, was something he could have done without.
The night had effectively ended after the attack, sans for her and Draco. When they were done being assured by the Ministry guards that they would look into it, and all the guests had left, she'd dragged him in here.
She was aggressively stomping around gathering a few supplies. She had a diagnostic spell up in front of him. Draco could see that he had fractured two ribs, gashed his torso, and pulled a muscle in his back.
He could also see the way his heart rate was slightly elevated. Something he could pretend was adrenaline, but knew was all Granger.
“This will hurt.” she said, huffing out the spell to mend his bones.
He barely flinched.
This seemed to set her completely off. She sputtered, huffed, turned on her heel to pace away and then spun back around towards him.
“Does nothing hurt you?” she countered. “Can’t you feel anything?”
“Says the woman who’s life was on the line tonight. Says the woman whose life has been on the line for the past 5 months!”
She huffed in frustration, and then came back over with her wand. She hovered it over the bleeding gash he had.
“I can feel plenty,” he spat back moodily. “I can do it if it’s gonna peeve you off.”
“Like hell!” she seethed back. “You’ve done enough!”
This set Draco into a true spiral. What the hell did that mean?
“What the hell does that mean?!”
“You know what it means.”
He could feel the wound closing on his side.
Draco was thoroughly affronted. “No, Granger, I actually don’t know what it means, so it would be bloody great if you could use your signature lack of tact to – hey!”
She had pressed a luke-warm, wet compress to his skin and wiped hard. She was attempting to get the crusted over blood off of him.
“Oh! So getting your bones magically snapped back into place doesn’t elicit a single reaction, but a little wiping does you in?”
“It’s cold.”
“Boohoo!”
He had her wrist in his hand in an instant, stilling her. Not a trace of fear or surprise in her face. All she did was glance wearily up at him, and cock an eyebrow.
He used her wrist to pull her forward an inch. “Stop deflecting. It looks terrible on you. What do you mean, Hermione?”
He could see the shock of her name written plainly across her face, he could feel goosebumps under his grasp.
His eyes trace her throat as she swallows and says, “You don’t think I was terrified when you threw yourself in front of me? To watch you die, after all this time? When are you going to give it up, Draco?”
Never. Never never never. Not if her life was on the line. He’s about to push the words out, but she continues,
“When are you going to let someone finally protect you?”
She whispers it, he knows this by the way her hot breath brushes against his lips. But it’s so loud. The way it reverberates in his head.
The way he fights because he had counted on others to protect him before, and they failed. They had failed him and he wouldn’t… couldn’t make himself vulnerable again.
And she knows this. Of course she does. Even without him having to say it, she’s worked the entire thing out. As always, she’s ahead of him.
She reaches up with the hand he’s still clinging to, her soft fingers landing on his cheek.
“I could.” she whispers lowly. “I could protect you too.”
It shocks him to hear words he’s always wanted to hear from her. But not as shocking as the feel of her lips on his.
It’s soft and so, so brief. It burns with the intensity of the way he’s yearned for it.
Her brown eyes are blown wide – just as determined as always, with the softness he had hoped would one day be for him.
Draco yanks her forward and crashes his lips onto hers. She responds immediately, pressing her body right against him. Draco wraps his arms around her, one hand on the back of her neck, the other pressed into her lower back.
The heat of her skin is fueling an electric current in Draco that he can feel down to his toes. Her hands feel soft against his chest, where she’s running them up and down.
He pulls away to take a deep breath of air, and so he can whisper Hermione at least once.
It’s easy to sink into her. Lean against her body, get lost in her kisses.
It’s so easy when he lays her body down on her lush bed, and licks his way down her neck and torso. She moans in the most delicious ways for him. It’s music to his ears, he catalogues every moment in his mind.
He logs every moment of this until it’s covering the battered and bruised parts of himself.
Until the sight of her, head thrown back with his tongue deep into her core, has covered over scarred memories of Manor’s past.
“Draco, Draco, Draco…” Her thighs close over his ears; her orgasm tastes sweet.
The overwhelming butterflies that formed in his stomach haven’t gone anywhere. They’re building and staying with each moment. He feels dizzy, giddy, exalted.
Her hands are on his back as he travels up her body to kiss her, to lean onto her. To press himself at her core and sheath himself inside of her. Their combined exhale nearly breaks him.
And then she kisses him hard, leaning up with everything that she has. And he can’t take it anymore, so he sets a steady, breathless pace. He travels his hands to behind her neck, buries his own in the crook of her neck where he moans. She’s so sweet and warm.
He kisses her, lazy and inconcise, so unlike him. He can barely contain himself later, when he’s setting a punishing pace and moaning as he fills her.
She’s safe under him, this much he knows.
Later, laying on their sides to face each other, Hermione tracing where he got hit with the spell, he says. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
He nods, exhaling softly. “Okay, you can protect me.”
She sets her mouth into a small smile. “Thank you. I would have, even if you said no.”
And Draco lifts his hands to brush the back of his fingers against her cheek. “You wouldn’t be Hermione Granger if you didn’t.”
And he knows her the same way she knows him. Which is how he knows she’ll whisper it back when he says, “I love you.”
He allows the memory of her next line to finally clear out the pain and fury he’s been holding within himself.
“I love you.”