#dramione ficlet

[pixydustworld]

The clock above the fireplace read 11:35pm. 25 minutes until midnight. They had exactly 25 minutes to consummate their marriage.

Hermione wondered how the ministry would know if her shiny new husband didn't come inside her.

She drank more champagne.

“It doesn't have to be painful.” Malfoy said, staring above her head at the wall, seeming eager to over analyze the wallpaper, “There are ways for it to be.” He took a deep breath. “Enjoyable.”

“I’ve had sex before.” Hermione said.

“You have?” His voice was a touch surprised.

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

“Loads of times.” Hermione scoffed (three times, to be specific, and it had been almost a year since the last time) “I’m an expert.”

Malfoy had the audacity to look relieved. “Good.” He said, “I’m glad you’ve had pleasurable experiences. When — when, we, consummate — ”

“Fuck.” Hermione said at the same time as him.

“— fuck,” Malfoy practically hissed, “Just. Just think of them.”

Hermione nodded. “Right.” She said, “Sure.” He was staring at her. Waiting for something; her permission, perhaps. “You can think about other people, too.”

The first time she’d had sex, Harry had been soft, if not a little too gentle. In the tent, surrounded by darkness and the ever present promise of death, their fumbling hands had met. It hadn’t been painful, but it hadn’t been overly pleasant, either. It just had been them.

The second time she’d had sex, Ron had been eager to please her, but it had felt off. Like a sneeze that wouldn’t come, like an itch just below her reach — overall, it had been unremarkable and unfortunately for her and Ron’s budding romance, a little unsettling.

The third, and subsequently final time, Hermione had decided that she needed to stop having sex with immediate members of her very small friend group, and Seamus Finnigan had been happy to oblige her.

In the middle, he’d gotten a leg cramp and accidentally headbutted her.

She’d gotten a bloody nose, and Seamus still wasn’t able to make eye contact with her without cringing.

Then, the marriage law had been announced, and Hermione had been too swept up in writing motions and testifying in court to worry about the elusiveness of her own sex life.

“Did you ever think you’d get married?” Hermione asked to rupture the silence that had stretched on for a bit too long. It seemed like a fitting question to ask, given their predicament. “I was never sure.”

Malfoy smiled and Hermione felt her stomach twist. This would all be much easier if he wasn't so handsome. “It was never my choice.” He said, “I always knew I’d marry someone my father chose for me. Perhaps that’s why I accepted all this — the lack of choice, that is something I’m familiar with.”

“You, however, fought to the bitter end.” He continued, “very valiantly, I might add. As is your nature.”

“It didn't work.” Hermione said softly. Admitting defeat to Draco Malfoy never seemed possible before — but now? It felt almost inescapable, the partnership that was materializing between them. Like the golden thread of fate was tightening around their wrists.

“You’ll figure out a way to make them suffer.”

“Not my nature,” Hermione said, finishing her glass of champagne, “That’s yours.”

The clock read 11:40pm. It seemed they could no longer avoid fate.

“If we don’t consummate,” Malfoy was saying, voice sounding far away, “And the punishment is a fine, I can pay it. I won’t pretend I’m not above bribery, either. I — we — have a lot of money. Perhaps we could buy the Minister an island? Do you think he’d like that?”

“Harry said the punishment was prison time.”

“Hm.”

Hermione stood from her chair by the fire and smoothed the nightgown over her legs, fingers trembling slightly. “Thank you,” She said, “For offering to pay a fine for me. And for hypothetically bribing the minister of magic with an island. But I think — I think this is just unavoidable. We’ll be okay.”

He smiled again, soft like the fuzzy clouds at sunrise. Hermione had never really noticed how his smile changed his entire face. “Yes,” he said, watching as she moved across the room, “We’ll be just fine.”

She lay down on the bed, closer to him now then she had been in years. The last time they’d touched had been when he’d clutched her shoulders the day of the trials, fingers tight around her flesh. When he’d apologized to her in that dimly lit hallway, tears tracking down his cheeks, uncaring of who saw.

Hermione found dwelling on the past did no one any good, but for once, she was glad he’d done so; if only for the growth that accompanied him with the passage of time.

Glad, that if this was going to happen, she would face the future with this version of Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy shifted, looming above her, his fingers finding the strap of her nightgown, twisting the fabrics softly before firmly pressing his hands on either side of her body. The mattress refused to creak, the only sound in the room their soft breaths.

“On or off?”

He waited politely for her answer, but his hands betrayed his tension, clutching almost angrily at the sheets, in danger of ripping them. Rich people, Hermione thought, could afford to rip their sheets. They could simply buy new ones.

“On.” Hermione said in a thick voice.

“On.” Malfoy agreed. “I’m going to touch you now.”

“Yes.” Hermione wished she was someone brighter, someone like Ginny or even Lavender. If they’d been assigned Malfoy, the room wouldn’t feel so thick and heavy. They’d be able to smile — they wouldn’t be frozen beneath him, skin as rigid as the bones underneath. “Alright.”

“You’re so much smaller up close.” Malfoy murmured, surprising both of them. “From afar, it’s easy to convince myself you’re a titan, towering above us mortals. But here, I think it’s undeniable.”

“I was taller when we were kids.” Was the response Hermione decided to give him. “Do you remember? I used to be taller than Harry.”

“I remember.” His thumb was rubbing circles against the top of her thigh. Just touching the skin, nothing scandalous, but Hermione felt a bit like a puritan seeing ankles for the first time.

“Do you think our child will be tall?” She asked, “Like you are?”

His touch faltered for a bit, a crack appearing in his perfect facade. For a moment, his eyes were bright, hungry. Then, he resumed his lazy touch, fingers slowly tracing down her legs, beneath her nightgown.

“I hope they inherit all your goodness.” Malfoy said roughly, “And they inherit all my height.”

Hermione had never thought about being a mother, never considered that a possibility — she certainly had never expected to become a parent with Draco Malfoy. But a life with Harry had inadvertently prepared Hermione to adapt to her environment, like those frogs that change genders.

“I’ll need to stretch you a bit.” Malfoy was saying, sliding down her body. Hermione wondered when she should start calling him Draco. Surely, soon, with the home he'd seemed to have made for himself between her thighs. “Please, just try to relax.”

“Right.”

His hot breath on her center was the only warning Hermione received before he was licking her, tongue twisting its way inside her cunt, thumb lazily rubbing her clit. She was wet, not an embarrassing amount, but not enough for him to grunt his approval, the vibration sending a shudder skittering up her spine.

“Oh,” she gasped, hips squirming against his hold, “Wha — what are you doing?”

“Shh,” he hushed her, words mumbled against her cunt, “It’s rude to interrupt.”

Then, he closed his lips around her clit and sucked, his sloppy noises filling the room. Distantly, Hermione heard someone babbling, broken cries and unfinished sentences — it took a moment to realize that voice was her own. Heat, like fire, like a dragon, spread across her body.

He was pressing her to his face, fingers digging into her flesh; each time she withered away from his tongue, his lips, even his teeth, his grip tightened, an arm pressed against the flesh of her stomach.

Finally, finally, finally, she felt one his fingers slip across her folds, sliding through the wetness. Malfoy’s fingers were so much thicker than her own, entering her with a bluntness she wasn’t accustomed to, twisting her open. Fucking her slowly, with no clear intention of quickening his pace.

“After the war,” Malfoy said, licking up her cunt with leisure, “When we were at school, I wanted to be near you every second. It was like waking up and realizing I could actually see the sun.”

She remembered, even now, through her trembling limbs, how he’d looked at her during their 8th year. It hadn’t been a predator's gaze, but one of blatant observation. Like he was truly seeing her for the first time; finally allowing himself to look.

“What a gift it is.” He murmured against her, a second finger sliding to join the first, a pleasant burn beginning to overtake Hermione, bubbling over the surface, spreading across her flesh, “The privilege to bask in your warmth.”

He devoured her until she came with a wail, on an exhale, head tossed back. Hermione twisted and twisted and twisted away, but his hold was firm. It hadn’t been like that with the others, rarely, it had even been like that with herself.

“Will that be enough?” She sniffed.

He pulled his cock out for her to see.

“Three fingers, then.” Hermione said, voice unsteady.

It was 11:53pm by the time he’d stretched her to his liking.

“Hermione.”

Hermione jerked at the use of her first name. “Yes?” She hiccuped.

He squinted up at her, hair falling over his eyes. He really looked like a stupid fairytale prince, even now, with his face glistening, wet with her, it was completely unfair. “Think of someone else. It’ll help this part.”

To her credit, Hermione tried to follow his directions.

Visions of Harry’s eyes morphed into gray, Ron’s arms around her torso tightened, the way she imagined he would clutch her to his chest — Seamus’s moans grew deeper, like his voice.

It seemed all roads led back to Draco Malfoy, and Hermione was too tired to contemplate the importance of that realization.

Earlier, he’d called her valiant. Brave. Said it was part of her nature, woven into her bones. If she had nothing left, she’d still have her bravery. Perhaps, it was time to use the courage everyone insisted she possessed.

“I’m not thinking of anyone else.”

Malfoy looked like someone had shot him. “What?”

“I’m not thinking of anyone else.” Hermione repeated loudly. Maybe he had a minor head cold and was having difficulty hearing her, “I’m thinking about you.”

“But I told you to think of the others.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“I’m not a dog.” Hermione scoffed. “I don’t blindly follow your orders.”

She ignored the way he smiled at her.

She felt him then, between her legs. Warm and heavy, a weight on her thigh, a promise for what was to come. “I’m,” Malfoy looked upset, angrier than before with the sheets, “I’m sorry that this happened. That it’s me.”

“I’m not.” The orgasms had loosened her limbs, a crack across a frozen pond; speaking to him seemed easier now, less world shattering. “I’m glad it’s you. I’ve fucked both my friends, it��s only natural that I’d carry on to my enemies next.”

“You think I'm your enemy?”

“No,” She sighed, “I think you’re my husband.”

“Say that again.”

“Husband.” She repeated. “You are my husband.”

“And you are my wife.”

Earlier cowardice forgotten, Hermione smiled up at him, all teeth. Malfoy blinked, like someone had turned on the lights. “ I’ve thought about you fucking me before.” She said softly, “Have you thought about me?”

Malfoy groaned, like he was in pain. “Constantly,” he said. “An agonizing amount. It’s time for me to fuck a baby into you. I’ll fill you up, alright? Will you let me?”

Hermione managed a confident nod.

The feel of all of him, tossed her head back.

Unfair, completely unfair, that this experience belonged to him, when already so many parts of her were his, too. His ownership over her mind had been a subtle acquisition, but this new feeling, the one burning through her, seemed to happen all at once.

“Such a good girl,” Malfoy grunted, “allowing me between your thighs.”

Then, he began to move, and the entire world seemed to tilt off axis.

Everything seemed to melt away, all that remained was Draco, the drag of his cock inside her.

She weakly clutched his arm when his fingers slid to her clit again, rubbing slow, agonizing circles. He smiled at the tears that stuck to her eyelashes, and it was a little mean.

“I won’t last,” he managed to say, “come on my cock, that’s a good girl, let me feel it.”

She felt when he came inside of her, heat spreading across her stomach. Winced slightly, when he kept fucking her, soft thrusts, fucking his cum deeper inside her.

“Have to make it stick.” He slurred.

“We can try again.” Hermione sighed, finally allowing her fingers to drag through his hair. Soft, softer than she thought it’d be — felt him twitch inside of her when she spoke. Wondered if her voice alone had the power to bring him to his knees.

“Has no one ever made you come before?” He hummed, “Does that job only belong to your husband?”

“You’ve never had a job in your life.”

She felt his smile against her skin. “Then I’ll need lots of practice.”

#dhr #dhr smut #dhr drabble #dhrtwt #dhr fanfiction #dhr fanfic #dhr ficlet #dhr fic #dramione #dramione fic #dramione fanfic #dramione drabble #dramione ficlet #dramione smut #hermione granger x draco #hermione granger x draco malfoy #draco x hermione #draco malfoy x hermione granger #hermione granger #draco malfoy #hermione x draco #draco malfoy and hermione granger #harry potter #ron weasley #seamus finnigan #marriage law #pwp #pwp fics #smut #harry potter smut

[sodamnradd]

“Give it up, Draco. You found what people spend a lifetime searching for, and you just let her leave without you.” Blaise fell back onto the leather sofa and crossed his ankles, looking pensively into the fire. “What I don’t understand is why. You keep saying that if anyone will win, it’s her. And yet here you are.”

Draco opened his mouth to deny, deny, deny. But what was the point? Blaise had seen them together in the prefects’ bath, and later, when Draco tried brushing it off as a casual hook-up, Blaise had only shaken his head and said, ‘I saw your face,’ as if that was supposed to override any lies that came out of Draco’s mouth.

His stomach had been a tangle of nerves since Granger had kissed him goodbye and disappeared with Potter and Weasley to save the world. That was the issue with Gryffindors, forever killing themselves over the next big heroic deed. He wasn’t like them.

“What would you have done?” sniped Draco. It was easy to cast judgement from afar, but Blaise wasn’t living it. “Would you just turn your back on your mother? On your friends? To hell with everyone if you’re in love?”

Blaise gave him a side-long look, grinning. “Are you in love?”

“You seem to think I am.”

“Do you see a future with her?”

“If the world wasn’t so fucked up?”

“Yeah.”

Draco didn’t really have to imagine it because it’s all he’d been thinking about since he first kissed Granger nine months ago.

It wasn’t just her physical being—the charged, tantalising pull of their bodies like opposing magnets—but a vision of what their life could look like. Granger didn’t need pure-blood persuasion to pave her way into the world. She could be self-made. And Draco would stand proudly beside her, as he did best. He could manage the accounts, pursue his hobbies, while ensuring Granger never felt alone navigating her mountainous ambitions.

Draco lived a satiated life, but with Hermione, all he knew was starvation. She was the one thing he didn’t want to barter or consume in small bites. If he had her, he was going to feast.

“It’s not that simple,” he concluded. “It’s not some playground romance anymore. She’s out there risking her life. I can’t afford to love her how I want if she’s just going to wind up dead.”

“Take this from someone who’s buried seven fathers—death is preventable.”

Draco looked up at Blaise, surprised.

His friend had an eerie look on his face, made worse by the fire casting strange shadows over him, but Draco knew the Zabinis had a complicated relationship with murder. And that’s what he meant: murder was preventable, not death.

“What makes you think I could protect her any better than Potter could?”

“The Dark Lord trusts you, you’re a sneaky fuck, and you’re in love. Nobody will fight harder to win.”

~

Donning a backpack full of survival gear, his wand, and the warmest clothes he owned, Draco used their matching bracelets to Port-Key to Granger the next Saturday morning.

She had woven the bracelets with colourful thread—red and gold for him, green and silver for her—and the next week, Draco had adhered matching charms to them. She didn’t know that he could sense her through it. That when she fingered the cool metal engraved with his constellation at night, he felt her presence. Or that it was a gateway to each other using the right spell.

Maybe he’d known he’d follow her all along.

The bracelet transported Draco to lush, crawling hills and enormous, craggy rocks. The sky hung bright white above him. He could sense Granger’s magic in the air, or maybe it was her perfume drifting in the breeze. He inhaled deeply, feeling closer to her already.

There was nobody around when he heard the gasp directly behind him.

He turned and saw the air wobble. The ward he hadn’t realised was there descended. Granger stood two feet away, eyes wide and lips parted. She was thin and pale and seemed afraid.

Regret washed over him. He should have come sooner.

“How do I know it’s really you?” she demanded, wand clutched tightly by her side, a combination of fear and hope flickering in her eyes.

Draco dropped his bag by his feet, taking three strong strides forward. He framed her cold cheeks in his hands, hoping she saw the look on his face and remembered how much she meant to him. He said, “Because nobody else knows how much I love you.”

He kissed her, and a second later, Granger threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back, sobbing.

“I’m here to stay,” he reassured her, holding her tightly. “I’m here to fight.”

And he thought of Blaise in the Slytherin common room, the only one who knew of Draco’s whereabouts, and their discussions of love and death. And he thought of the future he’d seen with Hermione, and he thought he could have it, maybe even a better version of it. One that didn’t involve him at home, pursuing hobbies, but being worth something, too. He could be that. He wanted to be that.

Draco wanted to feast.

(873 words, inspired by Don't Swallow The Cap by The National)

#dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione #dhr #dramione drabble #dramione ficlet #sodamnrad #sodamnraddrabbles

[cyprus-green]

Need you, Granger

Pairing: Draco x Hermione

Rated E; Male Masterbation

Summary: After six months in Azkaban Draco is stuck at a Hogwarts Reconstruction summer program. He's consumed by a certain Golden Girl and we get a view into his explicit masturbation session.

....

He palmed himself.

His hands were cool and rough--still slightly callused from his time playing Quidditch. Skin toughened from years of gripping a thick length of smooth wood.

But his hands had changed over the years. He no longer had the polished hands of a pampered heir. Six months in Azkaban could do that to you. His apperance had hardened, shoulders filled out. No longer all angles and edges. The tattoo on his neck, a reminder of how lucky he had been to let out on 'parole'.

So many things had changed in the last two years. But oh, how he savored his new-found freedom.

After six months of no privacy, he had vowed to never have another quiet orgasm for as long as he lived. An 'up yours' all to the times he tried to sneak in a wank in his small cell and had to bite down violently on his fist to silence his groans.

No more. He was determined to thouroughly enjoy himself nowadays. Not that he had anyone to enjoy with. Being a convicted death eater, even one who was acquitted on account of being a minor at the time of his crimes, could really put a damper on your dating life.

So alone he went. Savoring the feeling of rubbing his long, thick length slowly with both hands. Imagining her body taking him in, filling her to the hilt.

Her.

That girl. The fucking girl he could never quite shake.

The girl who also happened to return to Hogwarts for an optional 8th year. The girl who also happened to joined the summer 'castle reconstruction' program. The only student present who was not required to attend due to ministry mandated public service.

The Golden Girl, herself.

Hermione. Fucking. Granger.

His mouth parted and he thrust his cock up into his fisted hands.

Granger.

Mmmm Granger.

Beautiful.

And Fucking Infuriating.

Precum lubed the tip of his head as he spread it around with his wide thumb. He gently rubbed the slick up and down himself. Needing more glide, he spit into his hand and rubbed it down his length, coating his cock. It made an obscene noise and he groaned in pleasure.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Fuck. Fuck. He had needed this, so badly. It had been such a long week. Full of hard physical labor, lifting slabs of stone. Complex spells, repairing walls and floors. He had little time to do more than work, sleep and eat.

Gods, she had been right there. Wearing her awful muggle outfits that left him hard all day. Skimpy little things she said kept her cool in the oppressive summer heat. Tight shorts that sat low on her hips and rode up her ass. Tank tops with thin straps that he wanted to rip off her body. Her smooth mid drift showing everytime she pulled her wild mane up into a bun. And by all apperances she had zero clue the effect she had.

Her fragrant scent hit him every time she passed by his way. Distinctivly feminine. Apple shampoo and sweat.

By midday she was dripping in it. He wanted to lick every single drop. Wanted nothing more than to feel her body beneath his, sweating and used. Panting. Hair wild around her, cascading down her back. The evidence of her arousal all over her thighs. The taste of his semen all over her mouth and chin.

He wanted her to be filthy for him.

He wanted her to bend over and spread her ass cheeks for him, showing off her pink little holes like a good girl. Wanted to see her thighs coated in her own need, desperate.

Fuck. He palmed himself up and down again, gritting his teeth and throwing his head back against his pillow.

He could stretch her out. She was so small. Would his cock even fit the first time? Her thin shorts left little to the imagination, fabric clinging to her fat little lips--until she turned and adjusted herself. Delicious.

She'd be so embarassed if she knew.

If she had seen him stare.

If she could see him panting as he indulgently stroked himself to thoughts of her, and her alone.

Would she blush and turn around? Or would she stare and lick her lips? Letting her gaze linger on his proud cock just a second more.

His grip tightened and he twisted his hand around his head and back down.

Merlin, he needed her.

His hand went past the base of his cock and he grabbed his balls, tugging at them. They bounced heavily. He tugged at them again, and felt a familiar ache.

Fuck. He was so full. He needed to cum. So badly.

He wanted to fill her with it. He was young. Verile. Full of seed. A wizard who needed to fuck. Hard. And she could take it, with those high hips. That petite, yet solid frame. Oh yes, Granger could take a pounding.

He fisted his cock harder and groaned at the loud sloppy sounds it made.

Her cunt would be heaven. Warm. Soft. Wet. He just knew it. He wanted to taste it. To eat her out. To finger her tight cunt, to push his thick fingers in her ass as he licked and sucked at her clit. Working her body into a frenzy. Not letting her escape him even when she writhed and shook.

He wanted to make her take more than she ever thought she could. To make her weep from pleasure. To spasm and gasp and squirt all over him in confusion and shock. To grip her perfect cunt around his fingers and sob his name into the air.

He shuddered and thrust his cock up into his hand again. And again. And again. His light blond pubes beginning to become wet with spit and precum.

Fuck. What would she say if she knew? If she walked in and saw him?

His arms began to ache at the punishing speed but he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop. It felt so good. He hissed at the smooth glide over the sensitive underside of his head. He threw his head back again and cursed. She was unreal. The perfect delight for his filthy mind. The glide of his hand addicting when paired with her image.

He wanted to bite at her smooth light-brown skin. To tounge her pretty dark cunt from behind and rub her round ass while she went down on him. He wanted a close up of her pretty little pussy contracting on air. Needing his thickness. Needing his length. Needing him. Wanting him. Screaming his name. Crying out for his cock. Saying his name over and over and over. Draco. Draco. Draco. Draco.

His abs began to quiver and his eyebrows knitted together.

He was getting close and he let out a involuntary yell. His hips bucked and he felt himself on the edge of no return. He pumped his hand harder. Fucking himself, turning himself on with how wanton his need must look.

He needed Granger. His Granger.

He was so thouroughly pent up. Salazar, he would cum buckets just at the sight of her breasts. Her perky little tits. Bouncing slightly when she walked by on early weekend mornings, wearing no bra. The fucking tease. Little peaks poking through. He wanted to take them in his mouth and suck on her dark nipples. Biting her from her tits all the way up her neck and back down to her soft thighs. Marking her as His.

Granger needed his cum. She did. She needed a good hard fuck. One look at her and you could tell it was true. Her shoulders were too tight. Her posture to ridgid. Someone needed to help her let go. Needed to tame the little lion into contented submission. His little lion.

She'd beg for it. She'd beg for him to come on her tits. Or to come all over her pussy, just to fuck the cum into her with his thick long fingers. A greedy little pussy. His greedy little pussy.

Or maybe he'd just fuck her into the bed. Drill her with her ankles pushed all the way back to her ears. Banging the wooden headbord into the wall over and over. Their hip bones grinding against eachother. Her cunt rubbing his pelvic bone, hitting that spot just right. That spot that he knew would have her gushing, drenching his balls.

He wanted to taste their sex.

He wanted to grind himself into her. To make her cling to his arms, his shoulders, his back. He had always felt so skinny growing up, but she had always made him feel broad. Large. Strong. She had changed everything for him.

And recently something had changed between them. At times it felt like they were actually firting and dare he say, they had chemistry. Brushing by eachother in close spaces, knocking into one another on purpose just to feel the closeness of eachother's body.

Fuck. He thought of the way she had rolled her eyes at him today. Their verbal sparing leavng him frustrated. The little fucking brat. Needed a lesson in manners. Needed to be teased. Needed to beg for it. And he needed to taste her desperation.

Fuck he wanted to get her pregnant. The prissy little swot. To force his pleasure deep into her. To fill her again and again. Until her womb accepted his seed.

Fuck, he was close. His arm was burning at the speed. His hips snapping up to meet every single pump. The pleasure, a weight across his hips. He moved his hand from his balls and grabbed for his towel in anticipation. His hand snaked down his chest. Wet from perspiration. He tweaked his nipples and cried out sharply.

His hand remained on his flat stomach, fingers feeling his core tense again and again as his body teetered on the edge of release.

He whined. He needed it. He was chasing it. He imagined being muffled by her cunt. Her thighs around his face.

He spasmed at the thought, as he continued frantically fucking himself. Grunting and cursing every thrust. He bit down hard and grabbed his balls cupping and pulling and squeezing when suddenly his peak hit him like a steam train.

His body tensed, thrusting his cock, hard as he could into his fist. His abs tensed and he saw stars, his body hit by blinding pleasure that shot through him. He howled her name.

Hermione

Unabashed. Unashamed.

His eyes rolled back as cum shot violently from his pulsing cock. His voice rang out clear and desperate as he yelled into the air. Long strings of hot pleasure, shot out one after another. The first sailing past his head, the next hitting him in the shoulder, in the chest, on his abs and the final shot landing below his belly button. Each rope brought another groan. Another clench. Another bliss.

He continued to slowly stroke himself after his last shot. The warm, slick cum, feeling heavenly on his sensitive cock. Turning his head he panted into the pillow, letting out a shout as he needily jacked his cock, chasing another orgasm. The image of her naked writhing form flashed behind his eyes. Fucking beautiful. He found it quickly and cried out her name again. The sound of his hand on his cock, obscene.

Granger! Oh fuck, Yes. There it is. Fuck me. Yes, love. Just like that! Oh Fuck, I'm coming...I'm coming! FUCK!

His second orgasm had him shouting loudly, body spasming, his legs shaking and his hand now absolutely covered in his thick pleaure. Cum gutters filled with warm, white, need.

Slowing to a stop, he lay there absolutely drenched in his own seed. His balls empty. He stayed like that for a few moments, panting into the night air, the aftershocks making him shiver. He fought the powerful sleepiness that threatened to overtake him.

His hand shook as he loosened his grip.

Fucking Fuck.

His hand came away, just covered. He opened his eyes and surveyed the scene. It was quite the sight. And it was all her fault. Beautiful fucking thing.

After he cleaned himself off, he continued to lay there with a smile playing on his lips. He chuckled to himself as he listened carefully for any signs of life coming from his neighbor to the right. It was a dumb thought, really.

But he could dream right?

...

...

...

On the other side of the wall lay a girl with wild curly hair, smooth tan skin, and warm, kind, chestnut eyes. She grabbed for a towel and wiped her hand on it before placing it between her legs. She stifled a moan, biting her lip. Her clit was large and swollen. Fuck. So sensitive. And although she had touched herself to him nearly every night, and had craved to be as loud and carefree as he, she would be damned if she ever let Draco Malfoy know how badly she needed him. The feel of his svelte, toned body gripping her tight. Gods. She needed to stop.

If he wanted her, he was going to have to do more than wank to the thought of her every now and again.

Maybe he'd come knocking on her door one night. Come use her willing body to fulfill all his filthy needs. It was a dumb thought, really.

But she could dream right?

#dramione #draco x hermione #dramione fandom #dramione fanfiction #dramione smut #Smut #pinning draco #draco smut #draco malfoy #hermione x draco #dramione fanfic #dramione ficlet #lemon fic #smut smut smut #CyprusGreen-Writes

[ellieauthor]

"I hear she got another one this morning," Blaise says, voice projected loudly enough for the whole Great Hall to hear.

It is now common knowledge that Hermione Granger has been receiving daily flowers for the entire month leading up to Valentine's day, and the whole school is dying to know who they're from.

"Weasley," is Pansy's guess.

"Too easy," Theo argues. "I bet it's Potter. Or that Macguire tosser. McDonald? Mc something."

"McLaggen," is Draco's surly response.

But Blaise has another theory.

"Draco, don't you know quite a bit about flowers?"

He does. They know he does.

They all do; it's a foundational topic of early pureblood education. And with a mother like Narcissa, Draco is even better informed than most.

"Draco," Pansy gasps. "You're blushing!"

And that's all it takes for the rumors to start.

Blaise sits back, smile smug and proud, watching it all happen 

He knows the minute the theory reaches Granger.

They're sitting in potions, a class all eighth years share together. Lavender Brown whispers something to Hermione that has her looking toward the area of the classroom unofficially reserved for the Slytherins.

Her eyes linger on his friend a little longer than necessary. And over the next few days, her behavior becomes less combative.

Draco, for his part, panics.

"It's not me, Zabini!"

"Of course it's not," Blaise says, rolling his eyes. "It lacks any subtlety, and from what I've heard the arrangements.themselves are measley and plebian. Borderline pathetic."

"So then why--"

"It doesn't matter as long as she thinks it's you." Blaise works hard not to roll his eyes, but come on. For all his potions skill, the boy could be thick.

"But how does that--"

"You can figure the rest out for yourself, mate." Blaise pats Draco on the shoulder before leaving his befuddled friend to his own devices. He only has the capacity for so much charity.

Not that he's doing this entirely selflessly.

The pair have been circling each other like idiots for weeks, and he's bored of it.

This, though? He finds far less boring.

To Draco's credit, he takes over just fine from there. He begins to pay the witch more blatant attention, meets her at night in the library.

She says yes when he asks her to dinner on the fourteenth, and Blaise knows it's only a matter of time before they become official.

The morning after the date, Draco floats into the Slytherin common, looking sleepy but satisfied.

"Can't thank you enough," he says, grinning like an absolute madman.

"It was nothing," Blaise says, and he means it.

Draco struts away with a confidence Blaise hasn't seen since their fourth year. He's almost to the top of the stairs when he stops, like he's suddenly remembered something. "Where'd you get the flowers from, anyways?"

At that, Blaise's usual smirk shifts to a diabolical smile.

"I didn't. I just started the rumors."

Draco looks perplexed. "But then who--"

"Someone having a much worse Valentine's day than you, I'd bet."

Elsewhere in the castle, a drunk and inconsolably angry redhead shoves his last bouquet of roses into a burning fireplace, muttering something about a "stupid bloody ferret."

#dhr #dhr drabble #dramione drabble #dramione ficlet #dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione #blaise zabini #ellieauthor

[whereivygrows]

dramione drabble | prompt: you're thinking about it

“Admit it, Hermione.”

“Don’t know what you’re on about, Gin.”

“You’ve thought about it. You’re thinking about it.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong.”

“I couldn’t be more right, you mean.”

That does it.

“I HAVE NEVER, NOT ONCE, THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT DRACO MALFOY LOOKS LIKE TOPLESS!”

Hermione’s voice is loud enough that she looks around, red-faced with alarm, before sighing with relief.

They’re at the end of an empty corridor. No one could’ve heard her little outburst.

Except the devil himself.

They turn the corner only to come face-to-face with Malfoy.

Malfoy who, to Hermione’s horror, wears an amused grin and is curiously a little pink at the cheeks, as well.

“I’m very sorry to hear that, Granger,” he says. “But if you ever change your mind, Slytherin’s got the pitch on Thursday evenings.”

With a wink and one last insufferable smirk, he walks away, leaving Hermione to deal with a hysterical Ginny and a racing heart.

fin.

haha test post *taps mic* is this thing on am i doing the tumblr thing right

word count: 157 words | read on twitter

#dramione #dramione drabble #dhr drabble #dhr #dramione ficlet #hermione granger #draco malfoy #draco x hermione #drabble #ficlet #where_ivy_grows #cross posted on twitter

[thelashjedi]

Audition

��Malfoy, excuse me.”

“Fuck, Granger why are you squishing yourself into my seat? I understand that you might be hungry, but I’m sure you can wait for your own table.”

“What? No. I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend, Malfoy. Please. He stopped me out in Diagon and now he’s on his way here.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “McClaggen?” 

She nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I would greatly appreciate your assistance,” she asked, her voice calm and her expression placid. If Draco hadn’t seen her shaking hands, he would have thought her unafraid. Bloody Gryffindor.

Draco had worked in Wizagenmot Support for the past three years in the office next to Granger’s. Long enough to see her through two separate and distinct absolutely shite relationships with tossers who did not deserve her. Especially this last one. The Weasel had been bad enough, but at least he had the good sense to accept when it was over. Fucking Cormac McClaggen did not. He was essentially stalking the poor witch — forcing her to listen to his soliloquies about how they were destined for one another. Hermione wasn’t prone to exaggeration so Draco knew she was underselling her concerns. It made his blood boil whenever he thought about how much worse the git’s attentions must be in practice. 

Despite her protests to the contrary, Hermione was clearly struggling if she was crawling next to him in a restaurant in Diagon Alley on a Saturday afternoon. Draco had long thought she should be with someone who respected her. 

Someone who knew she was too good for them. 

Someone like him.

Quick as he could, Draco scooped Hermione into his arms, pulling her until she was sitting on his lap, with one forearm draped across her thighs. “I’m here for anything you need, Granger.” His voice was a purr as he lightly stroked her knee through her trousers.

She rolled her eyes. “None of that Malfoy. This is a ruse. Although, I suppose if you wanted to turn your performance into more of an audition you could start by respecting my wishes. I do find that very attractive.”

He sat up straighter and put his arm in a less suggestive position. She was still in his lap, so there was only so much he could do on that front, but he hoped she would credit him for making the effort. “Is that so?”

“More and more so with every passing day.”

“Good, because I don’t want to be your friend, Granger. Not if I can be more. Do you have plans for dinner?”

“Yes, I believe I’m going out with you.”

Draco felt his typical smirk blossom into an actual smile.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Hermione. Malfoy? He’s just a professional colleague, Cormac. I fucking knew you were shagging with him.”

“I wasn’t. But I am now.” She pinched Draco lightly behind his back — in what he assumed was a warning for him to not contradict her lie. As if he would. If it was an an option, he’d like as many people as possible to think he was sleeping with Granger.

“When he hurts you, don’t come crying to me!”

“It would literally never occur to me to go to you for anything, but thank you for letting me know.”

Cormac left in a disgruntled huff.

“You serious about that dinner?”

Draco knew she was perfect for him. So if he had the chance, he would spend the rest of his life trying to be perfect for her. “Deadly serious Granger. Where would you like to go?”

#dramione #dramione drabble #dramione ficlet #dhr #dhr drabble #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione #draco malfoy x hermione granger #fake dating #author: thelashjedi #thelashjedi

[gemgirl28]

Because it was breaking my heart (and because I cave so easily when asked @simplifiedemotions @sumbul) here's the happily ever after follow up to this.

Hermione carries on, just as she has for the past three years. She drags herself out of bed and into a cold shower to wake herself up each day. She drags herself to the Ministry to push papers and attempt to slice through red tape. She drags herself to her friends homes to show them that yes, I’m okay and no, I don’t want to talk about it and I’m here aren’t  I? Not moping alone at home.

It’s a dull routine, almost numbing in its monotony. Until one evening, after a quiet dinner with Harry and Ginny, there’s a knock on her door.

And he’s here.

She nearly slams the door back in his face, utterly horrified that he’s already seen her in his old shirt and sleep shorts, but he catches it at the last second.

“Please- wait just a moment and then if you never want to see me again, I’ll go but you must know.” Draco swallows, silver eyes a molten swirl of regret and resignation and hope. “I made my choice. I’m free from the marriage contract. And now- now I’m here to let you make your choice. I’ll respect whatever you choose.”

She knows she’s gaping but she can’t help herself. For three years she’d dreamed of this moment, and now it was happening, she couldn’t believe it.

When the silence grows to uncomfortable, he clears his throat and nods. “I- I know it’s not fair of me to have hoped you’d still want me after all this time but- well, I just wanted you to know. Feel free to owl me, or Floo, or anything. I’ll be staying with Theo for the foreseeable future.”

He raises his hand as if to brush back a curl from her face but awkwardly drops it. “I’m sorry it took me so long to do the right thing. But you should know, for me at least, it’s always been you.”

Draco turns to go, but she catches the sleeve of his sport coat and he faces her again.

“I am so furious with you,” she starts, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Just so, so angry.”

His smile is wry and tinged with melancholy when he finally does touch her, catching her tears with his thumb. “You have every right to be.”

“But-” her hands move to his chest, smoothing the lines of the fine material. “But it’s always been you, too.”

“Hermione-”

“You’re free? Completely?” She cuts him off. He nods slowly. “So then no one will protest when I do this.”

She crashes her lips against his. It’s been three years, two months, and four days since he moved out, since the infidelity clause of his betrothal contract took effect, but his lips feel just as much like home as the day he shattered theirs.

“Hermione,” he murmurs against her lips. “Hermione, love,” he begs.

She drags him into her flat, pushing him against the closed door. “Tomorrow we will have a lengthy talk about it all,” she tells him, hands fisting in his shirt. “But tonight I can’t wait another moment to have you.”

“You always have,” he says, pressing her hand over his heart. “I’ll spend the rest of our lives proving you are the only one who has ever held my heart.”

It’s enough for her to drag him to the bedroom, to strip his luxury clothes from him and let him pull his ratty old t-shirt from her. Her head is spinning from the emotional whiplash, but beneath it all she feels a piece of her soul settle, content.

He was home, and he was hers, and it would be theirs.

#dramione #dramione ficlet #the angst just hurts so much okay #but if that's your thing #just ignore this lol #draco x hermione

[a-thing-of-beauty1]

AO3 version here

“Honestly, Granger, I don’t know how you find that drivel enjoyable,” Draco said with a shake of his head and an amused quirk to his lips. He offered her his arm as they stepped out of the theatre and into the chilly London air.

Hermione smiled in spite of his insult as she clutched at his bicep with her gloved hand. “I understand there’s nothing particularly intellectual about romantic comedies, Draco. But sometimes it’s just nice to watch something where I don’t have to think. It’s just nice to… imagine .”

Of course, she left off the very important detail that it was him she imagined. Ever since the first time she’d invited him out to see a film with her on a whim, they’d settled into a friendship she valued more than any other she had. 

He had been overwhelmed the first time they’d gone. The movement and sound and scale of it all had been a shock. He’d been completely silent on their walk back to the apparition point, only muttering a brief goodbye before he disappeared. But to her eternal surprise, he had come into her office the next day and asked when they were going again. 

It had been tentative at first, but slowly it had blossomed into whatever this was now. Friends who did practically everything together even with an underlying sexual tension that never went away were still just friends, weren’t they? 

Regardless, it wasn’t something she was willing to risk, even if she wanted it so viscerally it clenched her stomach, made her heart race and ruled her dreams.

Besides, even if she refused to act on what she felt, there was no harm in enjoying moments like this where it was socially acceptable to press herself into his warmth while they walked along.

“And what exactly are you imagining when you’re not thinking?” he asked as his steps slowed almost imperceptibly. 

Hermione sighed, truth spilling out, internally cursing her comfortability with him. “Oh, just falling in love like that. So intensely that it blindsides you, even when it doesn’t make sense.”

“You’ve never experienced that before?” There was genuine surprise in his voice.

“N-no.”

Yes.

A bus drove by, wheels splashing in puddles from freshly fallen rain. “Have you?” she braved. “Ever experienced love like that?”

“I have,” he replied without hesitation, grey eyes locking with hers. Her heart stopped, but he went on as if he hadn’t just dropped a proverbial bomb on her emotions. “But that’s beside the point, Granger. The two in that film were completely unconvincing. That first kiss was laughable.”

She let go of his arm, feet pausing as her nose scrunched in annoyance. Sure, she could see his argument that the casting wasn’t what it could have been, but she had liked how the first kiss was portrayed. Of course it had been classic romcom fare, with swelling music and a full camera spin, but these films had never been about realism for Hermione. It was always about the escape and the comfort found in knowing the ending even before the story began. 

Not to mention, focusing on his terrible opinion was much easier than thinking about the fact that Draco Malfoy was, or at least had been at one point, very deeply in love with someone. Someone he never mentioned in their year of friendship.

When he realised she had let go of him, he turned towards her, brow raised in a mixture of confusion and concern. “Something wrong?”

“I liked that kiss,” she said with a glare and a slightly unsteady voice, hoping he didn’t notice how flustered she was.

“It was disappointing at best. All passion and no substance.”

Her puff of breath lingered like smoke in the cold air. “Like you could manage it so much better?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking forward and back on the balls of his feet. “I could and I have,” he said with a confidence that was quintessential Draco Malfoy. “Allow me to show you?”

Her mind short circuited. Was he offering to-

“S-show me?” she squeaked in a way not unlike she’d heard his house elf, Tippy, reply whenever she was directly addressed. 

“Yes, if you’ll let me.” His smile was inviting. “Just to prove a point, of course.”

She should say no. Laugh and playfully hit his arm, brush it off. Because she shouldn’t be entertaining this. It would only make it worse, kissing him knowing it would be all she had. Knowing she’d have to act like everything was normal afterwards.

But her head nodded in agreement anyway.

He stepped into her space, something he’d done hundreds of times before, but this time felt different. Heavier and full of things she couldn’t yet know or name.

“It’s all about timing, you see. Waiting for the right moment to present itself,” he said, voice low while his eyes sparkled with the reflecting neon that surrounded them. 

A flick of his wrist had her stumbling, legs losing their hold with his magic. She stretched her arms out to catch herself, winding up with a tight grasp on the lapels of his coat. Her gaze clashed with his, air catching in her lungs at the sight of him.

Draco steadied her, his hands holding her waist while she stared at him. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers dancing across her forehead and down to her cheek.

She always found him attractive, but she’d missed how truly beautiful he was up close. Striking grey irises, framed with long lashes and high cheekbones along with a sensuous curve of his lips made for a lethal combination.

One she would willingly dive into head first even knowing it would be the end of her.

“The anticipation should be just as sweet as the actual thing,” he breathed, eyes trailing from her eyes to her lips. “That’s what your films miss. Passion is all but a guarantee, but this?” His thumb swiped over her bottom lip, her flesh bouncing back into place after his touch was gone. “This is where the real story is.”

He leaned in and brushed his lips against the corner of her mouth, up to her nose, her cheek and then back down to the other side. He repeated the circle until she whimpered pitifully, and she could feel his smirk against her skin.

“Are you finished proving your point?” she asked, surprised at her ability to form any sort of coherent thought.

His responding chuckle was deep, rumbling through his chest and into hers. 

“Not even close.”

Finally,  finally  he kissed her. Truly kissed her. 

And dammit if it wasn’t the best thing she’d ever had. 

She pressed against him, clutching the back of his shirt when his hands tangled into her hair. She marvelled at how soft he was, how addicting it was to feel his mouth move against hers. 

Light exploded behind her eyelids, colours so vivid she could taste them. Sweet and perfect and real. It would hurt her if this was all she ever got from him, but she seared it into memory, knowing it would never be better than this.

It would have been dramatic to say this was it for her, that there could be no other after she’d experienced kissing him, but she felt it to her very core, knew that anyone that came after this would pale in comparison. 

Having played with time before she was no stranger to its power, but she never knew it was possible for time to truly stop. Not when her pulse raced so quickly. Not when she suddenly realised she was capable of feeling this much.

Fuck romantic comedies. This was what she wanted. 

Fire licked her skin as she opened her mouth to him. She sucked on his lower lip, raking her teeth over it as she let him go. He moaned, and she relished in it, glad he wasn’t completely unaffected by her. Even if he only felt a fraction of what she did, she would still consider it a victory.

She needed to tell him. She couldn’t keep it in any longer. Not after this . Even if it meant the rejection she so feared.

She pulled away, heart nearly bursting at how he tried to follow her lips, seemingly not wanting to break contact. “Draco?” 

His breath fanned across her face. “Hmm?” 

“I lied,” she confessed, suddenly feeling heavy and light all at once. “I have  been in love like that.”

“I gathered as much,” he said lazily, hands lowering to squeeze in a place no one could misconstrue as a gesture between friends

“You did? How?” 

“Considering I’m in love with you, too, I like to think I know what it looks like.”

“What?” She pulled back from him just enough to see his face, her hands clutching at his arms. “You mean – am I? You’ve been in love like  this  . You were talking – about  me? ”

“Merlin, Granger,” he said, with a laugh. “I’m cutting you off from watching any more of these films. They’re really dimming that brilliant brain of yours.”

She frowned at him, brows drawing together. “That doesn’t answer my question, Draco.”

He smiled with an affectionate roll of his eyes, and she was struck by a realisation that in all their time together, in all the time they’d spent in public and with her friends and his, she had never seen him look at anyone else like that. He was polite and talkative, the perfect gentleman he'd been raised to be, but the open, genuine happiness she saw in that moment and so many times before had only ever been directed at her.

Because he was in love with her.

“I was talking about you, Hermione.”

She bit her lip at the sound of her name, desperately trying to contain the pure, unadulterated joy that bubbled up inside her. In that moment, she could twirl around, or dance, or jump up and down or-

“Would you like to come back to my flat? Just to prove a point, of course,” she said with a cheeky grin and barely suppressed excitement. It was a question she’d voiced numerous times when she didn’t want to lose his company. One he’d never turned down, and she was sure he wouldn’t this time either. Now, though, it held the promise of so much more than his company.

Sex. Relationships. Happiness. Love. Everything.

He stepped back and beamed, leaving her reeling from the lack of contact for only a moment before he offered her his hand, twining their fingers together the moment she took it.

“I’d love to, but I’m serious about not watching anymore romantic comedies,” he said with a wink that left her skin tingling.

The prospect didn’t upset her in the slightest, not when her reality was far better than any escape she’d once found, and her laughter rang through the night, the sound lingering even after they disappeared.

#dramione #dramione fanfiction #draco/hermione #hermione/draco #dhr #dhr fanfiction #draco malfoy #hermione granger #harry potter fanfiction #dramione ficlet #weekly dose of fluff

[doodleholic]

“Draco?” The name left her mouth before she could think better of it, but it was him. His hair was longer than she had ever seen it, tied up in a rather dashing fashion. He cut a rather nice figure all around in that armor, if she were being frank.

“I am afraid you are mistaken, mademoiselle,” He said in impeccable French, his pronunciation ever so slightly off for the period. “My name is Armand.”

Hermione pressed closer, crowding him to the wall, away from prying eyes and ears.

“You look the part. I’d almost believe you, Malfoy, but I’m on assignment from the Time Division. I’ve been sent here to rescue you.”

Draco’s eyes widened, and if she’d had any doubts before, now she was absolutely certain it was him.

“Now, let’s go, before we accidentally change history. You’ve clearly been here too long as it is.”

“Granger, I can’t leave,” he said, dropping the pretense and switching to English. “As far as I can find, Armand Malfoy- my whateverty-eth grandfather- he doesn’t exist.”

…. Art for a fic I will never write because there’s this whole bootstrap paradox thing I’d have to resolve, and then I’d have to do research on the Norman Invasion. Sorry, my dudes, but I’m lazy and my attention span says ‘no’. And all I really wanted was to draw Draco with a high-pony wearing armor.

#Dramione #dramione fanart #dramione art #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione #fanart #myart #artists on tumblr #draco malfoy fanart #hermione granger fanart #dramione fanfiction #ficlet #fanart friday #kayka #doodleholic

[chronophobique]

Cursed!Draco as a Triwizard Tournament champion

— 1135 words

content warning: drowning (no one dies I promise)

Draco knew, since the moment he thought he saw a green flash hit him during his heated encounter with that one student from Ravenclaw—whose name he’d never cared to learn—on the train, that something was wrong with him.

He could feel it every time he climbed stairs, when he found himself panting like an old man as if he’d never got used to climbing them in the past seven years.

But he wasn’t going to pay a visit to Madam Pomfrey just now and ruin his chances at finally proving himself.

Not when the Cup had chosen him. Not another Chosen one or a brave heart, like it had in the past. Him. The only student in this school who had been an Azkaban convict.

It hadn’t enchanted him, at first. The opposite, in fact. The war had made him a target—quite rightly. Now certainly wasn’t the time to be in the spotlight.

But it was his opportunity to show them he wasn’t the boy who had blindly listened and obeyed to stronger than him anymore. And he wasn’t going to miss it just because of some pain in his chest.

“Ten galleons that someone will take care of his case before he has time to step a foot into that arena,” he heard a Hogwarts student not so discreetly tell a Durmstrang student as he passed them in the corridor. It was the day before the First Task.

The dark-haired girl met his gaze, then, considering her answer, when a familiar bushy head interrupted her train of thoughts, a finger pointed at her interlocutor’s face. “We don’t bet on the champions’ lives, Darwin. Twenty points from Gryffindor.”

“You can’t do that,” Darwin exclaimed indignantly. “We’re from the same house!”

“All the more reason to teach you a lesson,” Granger snapped back, eyebrows drawn severely as she walked away, barely giving him a glance.

As with his trial in which she had testified on his behalf, it wasn’t the first time she put her nose in his business to get him out of an uncomfortable situation, and all it did was make him more confused. Angry. Ashamed.

The third time was during the Second Task, when he realised with horror and ever more incomprehension that she was the one thing that had been stolen from him.

It was already a surprise that he hadn’t drown in the first few minutes of the task, given that he had been denied access to the library due to his past and exposition to the Dark Arts and therefore had been unable to find a way to breathe underwater, but seeing her floating amongst the hostile merpeople for him to save really was the cherry on the cake.

As his lungs painfully rejected the freshwater of the lake, he hesitated. None of this made sense. What the fuck did it mean, Granger being stolen from him? What would it mean to others?

Still, he’d made it this far. Somehow. And before his brain could even process it, he was grabbing her by the waist and pulling her to the surface as if his four members now had a mind of their own.

Or at least, he tried, because as soon as he started kicking the water it suddenly felt like claws were closing around his heart, dragging him down.

Down.

Down.

Overcome by panic, he kicked harder, but his efforts were in vain. In just a few minutes, he lost his hold on Granger, breathed what he was convinced to be his last, and let the depths of the lake swallow him.

He regained consciousness with a start, coughing up all the water that had seeped into his lungs.

“Mr Malfoy, are you feeling alright?”

“Obviously not,” he rasped, lying on his side, going completely still when he noticed Pomfrey wasn’t the only witch present in the tent.

As soaked as he was, a few curls already sticking up on either side of her face, Granger was looking straight ahead. Like the last place on Earth she wanted to be right now was on this stool but she had no choice.

Looking down, he quickly realised why; her hand was laced with his.

Appalled, he tried to wrench it out of her grasp, but she held on strongly.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Madam Pomfrey warned, a close eye on his vitals.

“Why not?” he asked through his teeth, goosebumps all over his skin.

“Because you’ve been cursed, Mr Malfoy.” She let that sink in, probably unaware that it was a daily occurrence for him. “And whoever hit you with it didn’t want you dead, but miserable for the rest of your life.”

That didn’t explain why Granger was holding his bloody hand. Merlin. He’d never had anyone hold his hand like this before.

“Well, clearly it failed. As you can see, I’m alive and don’t feel particularly worse than usual. Now tell her to let go of me,“ he groaned.

“The thing is you shouldn’t be alive. And you have Miss Granger to thank for that.”

“I didn’t do anything—” the latter said, still not looking at him.

“Voluntarily, no, but it doesn’t change the fact that you did.”

He saw her stifle a laugh and wondered if he was imagining the pinker tint to her cheeks.

“Care to explain?”

“You were hit by an Octopus curse,” Pomfrey revealed, point blank, lips pursed. “A rare curse which forced your body to undergo certain changes in a very short amount of time, such as growing two extra hearts.”

Rendered speechless, Draco could only listen, though the warmth of Granger’s skin against his own was irritably distracting.

“Two hearts you’ve already lost,” she continued in a graver tone. “As one was apparently stopped with the Killing Curse and another deprived of oxygen for too long.”

“One heart left, lucky me,” he muttered sarcastically after a few seconds, sitting up and locking eyes with Granger. “And what should I be thanking you for, hm?”

Eyes as dark as he’d ever seen them, the witch looked like she wished he’d never resurfaced.

“You remaining heart, it seems, only beats because of me, Malfoy.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. What an insufferable show-off. “Yes, I figured,” he snapped. “What I meant was—”

“Because,” she cut him off, squeezing his hand so hard he feared for a second his bones would break. “I make it flutter every time our eyes meet,” she spat, her voice full of reproach. “And makes it beat faster when I touch you. I keep you alive.”

“In simple terms, she has your life between her hands,” Pomfrey added as if she fucking needed to. “So I suggest you listen carefully to what I have to say.”

#dramione #draco x hermione #hermione x draco #dramione drabble #dhr fandom #draco malfoy #hermione granger #harry potter #dramione fanfic #dramione fanfiction #dhr ficlet #chronophobiquedrabbles

[kaycares22]

At 7:36 AM on a Tuesday, Draco stumbles out of her personal Floo. It sounds like he tumbles out, and Hermione gasps as she whirls around to face the hearth in her kitchen. He’s bent over with his hands on his knees, catching his breath. She’s never seen him look less put together.

“Draco. What’s wrong?” There’s a wild look in his eyes as he straightens, staring at her in a way that makes her feel more vulnerable than when he had her skirt hitched up around her waist seconds after he placed a silencing charm on the door to her office yesterday. She’s grown used to his touch, his taste, his presence in her life in stolen moments. But a wake-up call is outside the protocol of their trysts.

Not to mention that his face is currently whiter than the white blonde of his hair.

“What happened?” she asks when he continues to stare at her with wide gray eyes instead of answering her question. “What’s wrong?”

His hand shakes as he raises it to run it through his hair. “The tapestry,” he finally rasps. “The bloody fucking tapestry.”

“The…?” Hermione frowns as she watches his Adam's apple bob with the force of his swallow. He runs his hand through his hair again, and she thinks to herself that he looks spider-webbed, seconds away from shattering with the force of a breeze. “Here. Come sit.”

Draco’s hand still shakes in hers when she takes it, but he lets her lead him to one of the stools at her counter. He stares at some spot over her shoulder, almost despondent in his panic, until she presses her palm against his cheek. She ignores the voice in the back of her mind that questions why this feels like the most intimate way she’s ever touched him.

His eyes have that same wild quality when he stares back at her. “What happened to the tapestry?”

Rubbing a hand over his face, he mumbles something to himself that sounds like Didn’t think this part through. His hand covers his eyes for several long seconds before he finally lets it drop away. But then his eyes roam her body like he’s searching for an answer, and she wishes he’d cover his eyes again instead.

It catches her off guard when he asks, “How do you feel?”

“How do I feel?” she repeats, sounding daft even in her own ears.

“Do you feel… normal?”

Draco’s eyes scan her body again, and she crosses her arms over her chest to lessen that feeling of being laid bare before him. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“Is there something you need to tell me?” He shifts directions as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. And Hermione feels exasperated.

“Draco, what the hell are you getting at?” she sighs.

He falls silent again, but at least this time he holds her gaze. Another swallow, another bob. Another shaking hand through his hair. And then his voice a thin rasp again when he says, “You appeared on my family tapestry.”

Her blood freezes in her veins. She has no idea what that means, and she’s certain she knows what he just said at the same time. But her brain refuses to accept that interpretation. “I- what?”

“Granger, you are now on the Malfoy family tapestry. Which could mean that when you got me drunk on firewhisky last Friday, I married you and managed to forget.” Her stomach flips at the easy way the word married rolls off his tongue, but something in her mind screams at him to stop there.

Marriage. Period. Full stop. As far as this train of thought goes.

But instead, he levels his gaze with hers again as a muscle twitches in his jaw. “But there would be a line connecting your name to mine. Not an empty circle with an hourglass beneath both our names.”

His eyes drop from hers to stare solidly at her middle. She rushes to cross her arms there, to hide it from his view. “That’s impossible.”

But even as she says the words, she hears the lack of sincerity. Impossible would mean she hadn’t been the one to kiss him first. Impossible would mean she hadn’t invited him back to hers that first time, telling herself the next morning that she had been a little too drunk when she hadn’t drunk at all. Impossible would mean he was still just her coworker, not someone who had traced every part of her with his hands.

It was very possible.

“You’ve been a bitch,” he adds, interrupting her thoughts.

“I have not!” She takes a step back to create distance. Her hand itches to slap him. He must sense it because his lip twitches despite the lack of color that remains in his face.

“You were all pissy with me last week when you misplaced your notes on the vampyr rights’ bill.” He waves a hand lazily towards her. “You’re pissy right now.”

“You called me a bitch!” she says, aghast. What had ever made her think it was a good idea to sleep with this man? And then to keep returning at various times for the last three months?

“Yesterday, my hand barely grazed your tit, and you flinched.” He cards a hand through his hair again. It looks unkempt now, and Draco Malfoy never looks unkempt. Neither of them. Neither of them ever looks unkempt because they are calculated and careful and intentional in everything they do.

Except for when she kissed him on an impulse after their co-authored legislation for the protection of centaurs passed.

Hermione has to fight the urge to raise her hand to her own breast to see if it’s still just as tender.

“Well, it’s impossible.” She sounds more sure of herself as she shakes her head and raises her chin. “I’m taking a potion.”

This time, his lip does more than twitch. It’s a sad kind of smirk he wears, and her hand itches again to slap it off his face. “Which would be canceled out by the antidote you took when you had that skin reaction to the asphodel.”

She had held her breath, waiting for him to point out all the potential flaws in her brewing her own contraceptive potion. But the way he takes his Double Mastery of Potions knowledge and easily points out the way her potions would counteract one another leaves her feeling faint.

Hermione feels the color leave her own face. But her stubborn resistance grows a reciprocal amount.

“Well, this is ridiculous,” she mutters as she storms across the room to her discarded wand on the counter. She turns back around to find that Draco is standing again, gripping the counter as if it’s a life raft. She waves her wand and mutters the detection charm, determined to prove him wrong.

And instead, a tiny gold light appears above her abdomen. Flickering like a rapid heartbeat.

Her knees buckle as her whole world upends. But Draco just stares at it with wide eyes, his expression a mixture of fear and awe as he whispers, “Well, fuck me.”

#dramione #draco x hermione #dhr #dhr fanfiction #dramione fanfic #draco malfoy #hermione granger #dramione drabble #my ficlet #guilty sinners #clever words

[pixydustworld]

The marriage law was announced at 2pm on a Tuesday.

By 2:15 Hermione had already drafted a motion to dismiss the law entirely. It was a good motion, too. If she’d sent a copy to Ron, he would’ve replied with: wow! lots of words! good stuff!

At 2:17 her motion was denied.

“It’s best to just accept defeat.” Malfoy said from his side of the office, bookshelves neat, papers all stacked in order. “You won’t win this one.”

“I’m not in the habit of giving up.” Hermione snapped. Her side of the office was cluttered, less pristine. Her bookshelf had a nasty habit of overflowing all over the floor, stacks of books balancing precariously on every surface. “A fire hazard.” Malfoy had sneered at her once, “Breaking several codes.”

“Hm.” Malfoy said, “I hadn’t noticed.” He was smiling softly, like he’d just told the funniest joke in the world. Waiting, almost patiently for her to smile. Stupid man with his stupid grin, Hermione wanted to throw a book at his head.

“This is archaic.” Hermione hissed. “The Ministry has gone too far. They can't force us to marry anyone.”

Even as she spoke, a squirming feeling of doubt was beginning to take root in her chest — being friends with Harry came with many things. Companionship and love, but it also came with a healthy distrust of the government (like a free gift basket! but terrible one).

Malfoy ignored her complaints. "Marriage Acts aren't as mid-evil as you're making them out to be." He said, with that annoying voice he used when he knew he was right about something, "They serve a purpose."

"A purpose?" Hermione could practically feel the beginnings of an aneurysm. A fitting death, slumped over her desk, surrounded by unfinished documents and discovered by Draco Malfoy, "Are you actually defending this?"

She would have to find a new partner. A new office, one where he wasn't constantly surrounding her, swimming on the edge of her peripheral vision. Maybe Dean Thomas would let her set up a current workplace in his records closet, he was always bragging about how it was big enough for him to take naps in during work —

"No." Malfoy said, somehow even more amused now, "I don't support it."

"Oh." Hermione said, very eloquently, "That's good."

"But," Malfoy continued, still distinctly unruffled while Hermione was very ruffled, "Most people will be unfazed. It's a Pure-Blood tradition. My parents have always planned to arrange a marriage contract.” Malfoy shrugged, “It’s not absolutely unheard of.”

“Well," Hermione said, out of breath from all the pacing she was doing, "Your parents are terrible.”

“Of course.” Malfoy said, like it was obvious. “They would never allow me the opportunity to sully the Malfoy name. Producing the correct heir is the only thing I’ll ever be good at.”

Hermione frowned. “Hearing about your family isn’t good for our working relationship. It makes me feel bad for you.”

“We can’t have that.” Malfoy said.

“No,” she agreed with a sigh, “we can’t have that.”

“So, tell me Granger. What is your plan?” His grin became less self indulgent, more fake. “You’ll have to marry someone. It'll undoubtably be the event of the season — have a fiancé you’ve been hiding from me?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Do you think I could hide anything from you?”

Malfoy knew when she changed the scent of her shampoo, when she switched up her coffee order — he even knew if she was sleeping less than usual. It was impossibly annoying to be around someone so observant, someone so intent on cataloguing her every move.

"If I had a secret fiancé, which I don't, I'm confident that you're competent enough to have sniffed him out by now."

Malfoy responding grin was slow and syrupy. "You think I'm competent?"

“Piss off, Malfoy.”

“Is he shorter than me? Is that it? Didn’t want to introduce us because you knew he’d feel bad?”

“You’re taller than everyone.” Hermione said, annoyed, again, “You would obviously be taller than my imaginary fiancé. You’re like an angelic giraffe.”

“You think I’m angelic?”

“No.”

"Two compliments on top of each other, are you feeling alright, Granger?"

"Shut up."

At 2:20, Hermione began to clean her side of the office, desperate for an excuse not to talk to Malfoy.

At 2:22, Harry slammed through her door, completely demolishing the (very little) progress Hermione had made in cleaning up her side of the office.

“I’ll marry you.” Harry said, slightly out of breath, like he’d sprinted all the way to her office, “Do you think we can kiss without making a face? We’ll have to practice.”

“I’m not marrying you.” Hermione said from the floor behind her desk, “You are engaged to Theo.” She was laying on her back with a book covering her face, feeling rightfully sorry for herself.

“Theo won’t mind.” Harry said in the voice he reserved for whenever he wanted people to listen to him (i am harry potter! and i did not spill mustard on the couch! you have to believe me, i saved the world!) “It will be quick. I can get us rings before the day is over.”

"No." Hermione said, still on the floor, "I've gone along with enough of your stupid ideas. This is too much."

Because, despite it all, Harry would do this. Without hesitation, blind loyalty and unwavering determination — Harry would marry her and be pleased with his choices. He was lovely, but at times, Harry could be a misguided idiot.

"This is where you draw the line?" Malfoy hummed, "Interesting to catch a glimpse into the inner workings of your mind."

Finally scrambling to her feet (after a few more seconds of wallowing) Hermione was horrified to find a familiar look on Harry's face — one that promised something stupid.

"I'll figure it out. " Harry said, with a shrug that reminded Hermione of their childhood (occidentally, the stress headache she was feeling also reminded her of their childhood). He pointed a stoic finger at her. "Don't make a face when I kiss you."

Then, he left.

“Theo wouldn’t mind,” Malfoy said in a helpful voice, “He’d probably marry you as well. Would it be Granger-Potter-Nott? Or Granger-Nott-Potter? Better figure that out soon. Potter seems eager to find those rings.”

Hermione threw a book at his head.

Malfoy caught it with ease, his stupid Quidditch hands.

“I have an idea,” Malfoy said after a moment.

Hermione ignored him. “There has to be a way out of this.” She was pacing again, sensible shoes kicked off to the corner (where she’d undoubtedly forget them) “I could write another motion? A longer one this time. With more quotes.”

“Marry me instead.”

Hermione stopped pacing. “Excuse me?”

“I’m your best option.”

“I have many options —

“Weasley already tricked someone into marrying him and Potter is engaged to my only friend.” He frowned, in a mocking sort of way. “Did I leave anyone out?”

“No.” Hermione said flatly. “You didn’t.”

“Alright then. Marry me.”

“Hah.” She said, “Hah. I take back everything I’ve ever said about you. Malfoy, you are funny.”

“I’m being serious.” He said, looking annoyed. Fantastic, they were both annoyed. Like they always were.

“We can get married before the law passes and then you can do what you do best.” Malfoy continued, like that was a totally normal thing to say.

“Which is?” Without her shoes, the height difference was unbearably noticeable. She had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. At some point he'd stopped being a willowy wraith of a person and began the unfortunate process of filling out.

He didn’t look away. “Destroy everyone’s expectations and free the downtrodden.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “What would you get out of this arrangement?”

Malfoy shrugged, too practiced to be nonchalant. “I’d be married to a war hero. It would do wonders for my reputation.”

“And you would be married to me.” Hermione said, beginning to feel like this was getting too real, “We both know that would never happen.”

“Never?”

“Never.” She agreed.

He wasn’t smiling that lazy smile from before, this one was different. Sharper. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“Besides,” Hermione continued on loudly, “you’re no gentleman. No need to pretend. I don’t need saving, I’ll figure this out myself.”

“You don’t need to.” Malfoy said, “I will help. I want to fuck over the Ministry for many reasons, but mainly because they declined your motion.”

He was on her side of the office now, leaning casually against her desk, inches away from where she stood. He was too pretty up close, like staring at the sun.

“It was very good.” Hermione breathed.

Malfoy nodded, almost too good at pretending to be sincere.

“I’m sure it was good. You touched it. Everything you touch is golden.”

“You truly want to help me?”

“I’ve only offered several times.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “All to fuck over the Ministry? No other reason?”

“Maybe I want you all to myself.”

Hermione's eye twitched.

"Don't tease me." She managed to hiss. "Not about this."

She saw when he realized, a flicker of excitement in his eyes — when he noticed her apparent misery at how completely and helplessly she was drawn to him.

"I'd never dream of it." Malfoy said warmly, "You could kill me with ease, only an idiot would be careless around you."

She thought of all the long nights they spent together, crammed in their tiny little office. How she looked forward to her day, if only to see his stupidly pointy face. How she tried to date, but couldn’t. Because it wasn’t right — her dates were too kind, too short.

Not him.

How, through everything, he was the first person she thought of in the morning, the person she thought of in the darkness of the night, when no one could see her wandering hands — the person she looked at for a challenge, for relief and support.

Despite her best attempts, Hermione Granger had fallen in love with Draco Malfoy and now, here he was, seeming to share in her suffering.

“We’d have to consummate the marriage.” She said, giving him one last out. “You’d have to see me naked.”

“I’m sure I’ll survive.”

“I’m very bossy,” she said, “and I work all the time.”

“Good thing we share an office.”

“I’m not easy to love.”

Malfoy scoffed. “It’s been easy enough for me.”

He was close enough to touch, so uncharacteristically open. Looking down at her with fondness she didn’t know he possessed.

“I’m selfish.” Malfoy warned, “Do not forget that. I will help you destroy this law and anything else you want. Burn it all down if you want to. But I won’t be letting you go. Not now, after I've gotten you."

“I suppose that’s fine.” Hermione said softly, watching as his hand moved to touch her face, warm against her skin. "It'll be bearable to be around you, I suppose."

As he held her face in his hands, Hermione watched as his grin transform into something different, something new — a smile she'd only seen glimpses of, one only for her. "I'll work very hard to make our marriage a tolerable one." He said.

"Good," Hermione breathed, stretching up to kiss him, to finally press her lips against his, "I can't wait."

Hermione was married at 3pm on a Tuesday.

It was a small ceremony.

Harry, although he'd never publicly admit it, was relieved.

Despite his best attempts, he would've made a face when Hermione had kissed him.

#dhr #dhr drabble #hermione x draco #dramione fanfic #drabble #dramione #hermione granger #draco malfoy #draco malfoy and hermione granger #harry potter #dramione drabble #ron weasley #draco x hermione #size difference #d/hr #dhr fanfiction #dhr fanfic #dramione ficlet #marriage law #hp fic #pixydustworld

[sodamnradd]

It’s raining when Draco enters her cottage, his Auror uniform soaked black and clinging to his limbs. She’s about to scold him for leaving muddy footprints in her foyer when he pulls her into his arms.

Her fingernails rake his back, her skin becoming wet beneath her clothes as he kisses her deeply.

“Hello to you too,” she whispers, too dazed to scold him for whatever she was going to scold him for.

Draco follows her inside, peeling off a layer of clothing one step at a time, then scoops her up into his arms. She hardly catches her breath before he’s kissing her again.

“Did something happen at work?” she rasps. He’s only like this—desperate, rough, selfish—under pressure.

“What are these rumours about you escorting Krum to the World Cup After Party?” He squeezes her thigh hard enough to hurt.

“Because I am?”

“What?” he growls.

“I’m not your girlfriend, Draco. I’m allowed to go on dates with other men.”

“What?” he repeats, hurt.

“What?” she echoes, baffled.

“I’m here every night.”

“Yeah,” she says, her tone supplying the ‘so what?’ that she doesn’t speak aloud.

“I set up your patio furniture.”

“Okay?”

“Your cat sits on my lap when we watch your Muggle films.”

“A recent development.”

“I know how you take your tea, coffee, and learned how to make an Aperol Spritz.”

“Rather useful,” she offers.

He puts her down. “Your parents send me a personalized toothbrush every month.”

“Dental hygiene is important.”

“I threw you a surprise party for your birthday and invited all your friends to my house.”

“Very thoughtful of you,” she allows.

“I get you off every time we have sex. Multiple times.”

“Mhm…” She curves her hand behind his nape, wishing to get to the good part.

“You’re the only person I let touch my hair.”

She drags her fingers across his scalp, slick with frigid raindrops. “It’s very soft.”

“Hermione—” He pulls back, aggravated. “I’m your boyfriend.”

She freezes, her stomach dipping at the proclamation. “But I thought… We never discussed… And you didn’t say...”

He groans, tapping his forehead to hers in exasperation.

“Should I cancel on Viktor then?”

“I already sent him an owl.”

“Saying what?” she gasps.

He curls his finger around the belt loop of her trousers. “That while you’re flattered by the invite, you’re very much unavailable and very much mine.”

She shakes her head; her gaze dropping to their feet. She stiffens. “How many times do I have to tell you to take off your muddy boots when you enter the house?” She looks up at him then, startled. “Oh.”

Bonus—Draco’s letter to Krum:

Krum,

Hermione is unable to escort you to the after party on the account that she’s too busy being my girlfriend.

Cordially,

Draco L. Malfoy

(468 words, prompt from twitter: I'm not your girlfriend)

#dramione drabble #dhr #dramione fanfiction #dramione #sodamnrad #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione #hermione x draco #dramione fanfic #drabble #dramione ficlet #sodamnraddrabbles

[cyprus-green]

I'm interested in what you do with 2️⃣2️⃣

"Merlin, is that Granger?" | Dramione Prompt #22

Rated: M

TW: Violence, Cheating (not Dramione)

Draco draws his wand and points it at the hooded resistance fighters. Three on five, with the Order of the Phoenix having the numbers. But the Death Eaters have the edge, and they all knew it.

'Avada Kedavra'

'Bombarda'

'Avada Kedavra'

The three masked death eaters strike first, hitting two resistance fighters at the flank almost immediately.

Draco's gaze doesn't leave the young woman across from him in the Order’s formation. Another soldier crumples beside her. She doesn't even seem to notice.

Short even in her heeled boots, this Witch fights aggressivly, casts intricate spells with pure elegance, but most notably she is utterly ruthless in her attack.

Though hooded robes cover most of her face in shadow, Draco can see the shape of her lips, how she has a cascade of long wild hair, chesnut brown curls that spark with magic.

He'd recognize her anywhere.

As if sensing his thoughts, the Witch turns towards him. Her wand slices through the air and sends out a curse that knocks one of his soldiers down.

Those deep pink lips smirk and in a single fluid motion the witch pulls her hood back, releasing her mane from captivity.

Draco’s remaining soldier opens his eyes widely. The petite Witch is the single soldier standing from the Order's side.

'Merlin,' the young wizards voice shakes softly. 'Is--is that Granger?'

The Death Eater's Bane. The Lioness of Gryffindor. The Golden Girl.

The powerful, ruthless Witch before them is indeed the one and only...

Hermione Fucking Granger

With a glint in her eye, she turns to the young soldier. Draco remains focused, pivoting towards her.

Before Malfoy can order his soldier back, the young wizard’s hands goes to his throat. Draco's eyes tighten. He knows. He doesn't watch as the young Death Eater falls to his knees, blood rushing from one deep cut along his neck.

Hermione doesn't even watch the lad die. She doesn't care. She's isn't here for them.

She's here for him.

'Granger.' Draco's voice is cautious but firm.

Extending her arm all the way, the tip of her wand begins to glow, casting her furious face in an unearthly light. Her wand comes down, hard. Draco throws a protego just in time, before he's violently thrown backwards from the force of the blast.

Head spinning, Draco realizes he's on his back and when he swallows he can feel the underside of a heeled leather boot on his windpipe.

Bleary grey eyes open and Draco can see Granger in all of her beauty, hair nearly glowing from the rush of magic and adrenaline flowing through her right now.

She's just as gorgeous as he remembers. Even now. Especially now. Granger.

He opens his mouth to speak, but realizes the boot is too heavy, causing him to wheeze a little. Looking down her nose at him, Granger bends down as she jabbes the tip of her wand into Malfoy’s forehead.

'I told you, Malfoy.'

Draco’s lips quirk into a small smile but his eyes, slate above steel, remain guarded.

'Do you remember what I told you the first night you showed up at my door? Broken. Afraid. Begging for a place to hide from Tom.'

Memories flash in Draco's mind: promises made, Hermione begging in front of the council for Draco's life. Begrudgingly training with her. Learning to live along side the girl he tormented for so many years. The night he picked her up and carried her to bed, giving himself up to incomprehensible, impossible, love.

Digging her wand deeper into his skull, Draco can smell her apple shampoo. He breathes in deeply. Granger.

'I promised that if you betrayed me, I'd kill you myself.' Though her lips form a snarl, Hermione's eyebrows knit together, her wand just barely trembling against his skin.

'Granger.' His voice is soft, barely above a whisper. Breathing is a struggle. His wand has fallen out of his grip. Red in the face, her boot grinds down harder. His eyes flutter.

'No. No more! This ends now!' Her voice catches and he can see tears begin to form at the corner of her eyes.

'I never stopped.' He gasps out, eyes searching hers.

'What.' Hermione grows still. So still that Draco can feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat clang in his chest. She doesn't know. Weasle never told her.

'I left. But I never stopped loving you.' His voice is hoarse, and slow. It's all he can manage.

Hermione's entire demeanour changes. He can feel a red hot burning curse at the tip of her wand.

She grinds out her words through gritted teeth, 'You don't love me. If you loved me you wouldn't have betrayed us. You wouldn't have turned. You wouldn't have left me!'

He opens his mouth to respond, but she cuts him off with more pressure. Now he struggles, his hands close into fists.

Still he doesn't fight her.

'It's been a year! A year, Draco!' Shaking her head, a lone tear rolls down her cheek. Her chest heaves and he can feel the boot come off his throat. He sucks in air but it's not enough, his head spins again, eyes fluttering. He's coughing, gasping. Breathe.

'At this point it doesn't matter if you love me. You left. I should have never had pity for you.' She says it as a final defense. There's no more fire or malice. It's all she has left to lob at him.

Gasping, he coughs out the words.

'I Destroyed... last two Horcruxes. No one-- No one could know. I swore...Unbreakable Vow.'

'What? You're lying.' Her voice is hollow.

Her mind begins to race, her heart dropping into her stomach. That means the snake is all that's left. It's impossible.

'You're lying...swore to who?'

Draco's stormcloud eyes bore into her and she shakes her head. No. No.

'To who??' She half yells the question.

'Your bloody fiancé!'

Draco says it with a fraction of the resentment he feels. While his body remains laid out before the powerful young Witch, he doesnt feel fear. Not one ounce.

'That's not... I don't believe you!' Her voice is incredulous. She nearly laughs and looks around as if searching for an audience. Her wand isn't even pointed at him anymore.

'Go ask him yourself, Granger.'

Finally Draco's occlumency walls fall. Pale grey eyes soften and beckon her like a siren call.

'Don't lie to me.' She whispers it. But she knows. She knows he's not lying. She can feel it in her bones. He didn't mean to leave her.

'I love you, Hermione.'

His words hang in the air for a moment. Eyes are gentle, full of longing.

And she breaks.

Hermione Granger crumples to the floor and throws herself onto the young wizard with white-blond hair.

It was true. She had cheated on her fiancé. On Ron. With the enemy. She'd betrayed one of her oldest friends, in Harry. She'd cheated on the highest ranking strategist in the Order. She'd fallen in love with Draco Malfoy.

Ron had lied. Had found out about the affair and instead of killing him, sent Draco to hunt for the remaining Horcruxes as an undercover spy. And he lied to Hermione about the entire thing, feigning ignorance when she was distraught over Draco's disappearance.

Granger secretly waited and cried over Malfoy for so long. But less than six months later, Draco was seen on the battlefield, a Death Eaters mask covering his face. But she'd know that hair anywhere. She recognized his precise and deadly dueling style immediately. All the while she believed him to be a traitor, a deserter. And Ron had never offered a single word to the contrary.

Fisting his shirt, Hermione pulls herself close and lets out a sob that's been building in her chest. She breathes in. Parchment. Spearmint. Draco.

'I love you. I'm so sorry, ' Hermione manages to get out. 'I should have figured it out. I should have--'

'Shhh it's alright, my brave girl. I'm alright. I'm back. And this horrible fucking war is almost over. That's all that matters.'

His voice is silk and sweet honey. Her entire body clings to his. It's familiar. And solid. And perfect.

Large, strong hands caress her, soft lips whisper words of comfort into her ear.

Draco lay there looking up at the ceiling, sourrounded by death. But it doesn't matter. All that matters is that he's holding his witch against his chest, savouring the smell of his Amortentia.

.....

Submit a number from my Dramione Hurt Prompt List

#dramione #draco x hermione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #dramione fandom #dhr #dhr fic #dramione drabble #drabble #dramione ficlet #dramione prompt list #draco prompt #dramione fic #ao3 stuff #hp prompts #dramione prompt

[ellieauthor]

As her charity event draws to a close, Hermione is tired, but pleased. 

The crowd is larger than she’d dared to hope for, and heavily engaged, friends and admirers cheering and whistling with each new announcement. The night has gone smoothly, no hitches or scandals. And with one bachelor left, the rest should be easy.

She smiles to herself from where she stands just off-stage as the inevitable crowd favorite is announced.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our final lot for tonight...Draco Malfoy!”

He walks onstage with faltering steps, handsome as ever but lacking his usual cock-sure attitude. The man is nervous.

She feels a flash of something. Is it…pity?

They’d come up with a strategy for tonight, and it’d gone almost exactly according to plan.

Almost.

Ginny had won Blaise easily, avoiding any need to share her boyfriend. 

Theo had (dramatically) over-bid on Harry, happy to publicly embarrass his husband for a good cause. Plus, he knew the large sum would be good publicity for his firm.

But then Pansy, meant to protect Draco from misguided witches with delusions of betrothal contracts, had gotten…distracted.

Viktor Krum offering to participate had been a boon for Hermione’s Charity Bachelor Auction. The addition of such a high-profile celebrity brought in significant interest and advanced press coverage, and Hermione had known Viktor would be a good sport about the whole thing. It had been an easy decision with no foreseeable downside.

Until a glassy-eyed Pansy Parkinson had used all the galleons she’d brought to bid on Malfoy to secure a date with the international Quidditch star, leaving the tall, sought-after blonde on stage looking vulnerable and unsure. 

Hermione offers him an encouraging smile. 

He grimaces in return.

It’ll be fine, though. Right?

It has to be.

Her event can’t be the thing that forces him back into marriage dates after years of successful avoidance. Narcissa would be over the moon, of course. But Hermione would feel terrible.

She breathes a sigh of relief when Padma, a mutual friend with a known preference for witches, bids. A platonic date would solve all of their problems.

Her relief is short-lived.

The crowd parts to reveal a determined-looking Astoria Greengrass raising a paddle in response.

Malfoy’s panicked eyes find Hermione’s.

Please, he mouths. Desperate.

Her heart aches for him.

He’s a good friend, has been since eighth year.

He’s also a great backup date for functions, far more attentive than any of her exes. He has impeccable manners, grabbing her drinks and anticipating her needs before she has a chance to ask for anything. And he’s particularly great at subverting awkward conversations.

He’s gone to dozens of stuffy affairs, and he’s never asked for anything in return. 

Until now.

Ron, who’d volunteered to MC when Lav refused to let him participate as a bachelor, calls for final bids.

Hermione sighs.

It’s not smart. Instead of the cause, this will be the story in tomorrow’s Prophet. 

But he’s begging her with those sad, puppy-dog eyes.

Resigned, she steps onto the stage and raises her paddle.

A hush falls over the auditorium, a sudden blanket of near-silence. 

Through the quiet, someone in the crowd actually gasps. Which is ridiculous; their friendship has been well-documented. Hermione suppresses the urge to roll her eyes.

Astoria keeps bidding, and so does Hermione. In minutes they’ve promised more than the event had previously earned twice over.

Hermione is going to murder Pansy.

When they hit a landmark sum, Astoria finally backs off, and Hermione is pronounced the winner to a tittering crowd.

She walks on stage, giving Malfoy a perfunctory embrace.

“You’re paying me back,” she whispers.

He returns it, gripping tightly, wrapping her in a warm embrace. A warm, friendly embrace. “Every knut,” he agrees, his voice a low growl. Not gratitude, but something else.

A shiver travels up her spine. Which is silly, of course. This is Draco Malfoy. Her friend.

“We don’t have to go on the date,” she says as they’re engulfed by the din of the applauding crowd. “I know the organizer, she’ll let it slide.” See? It’s funny. One big joke, nothing more.

“Granger.” It sounds like a warning, but he won’t let her pull back. “I’m taking you on the best date of your life.”

He kisses her then, swallowing her confusion, and it’s even better than she remembers.

Before they were friends, there’d been that one kiss that one night that neither of them had talked about after.

The one she thinks of sometimes after a bad day, or a bad date, or a particularly long dry spell.

Blood pounds in her ears as the crowd responds enthusiastically to the new development. Hermione looks around wildly–at Ron, in the announcer’s stand. Out at the crowd. Anywhere but Draco’s intense eyes, trained on her.

From the back of the room, Pansy gives her the kind of encouraging glare only she is capable of.

In fact, all of their friends are watching them, rather expectantly.

She finally meets his gaze, and finds him grinning. “I don’t understand.”

“Parks’s been hot for Krum for ages. She begged me to let her out of our deal,” he says, with a carefully practiced shrug. “Seemed like a good time to try something I’ve wanted for ages, too.”

“...And you just left it up to chance?” she asks, suspiciously.

“Of course not,” he scoffs, leading her from the spotlight as though she’d already agreed to the date. “Who do you think talked Astoria into bidding?”

A Malfoy always gets what he wants.

#dramione drabble #dhr drabble #dhr #dhr ficlet #dramione ficlet #draco x hermione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #ellieauthor

[whereivygrows]

dramione drabble | prompt: i really hate you

"You think you're so better than me?"

Silence.

"Everyone thinks you're this harmless little angel now." Draco scoffs, crossing his arms. "Your tricks don't work on me. I know how cruel you really are."

Those infuriatingly knowing eyes finally settle on him.

Then, as if to gloat, Crookshanks arches his back, paws kneading gently on the soft material of Hermione's sweater.

He meows, and Draco swears it's a sound specifically calibrated to make his blood boil.

The orange monstrosity settles back onto Hermione's chest, curling up with his tail flicking imperiously in Draco's direction.

"I really hate you," mutters Draco, watching jealously as his wife and her stupid cat doze off on her favourite armchair in the Manor's library.

fin.

word count: 119 words | read it on twitter

#dramione #dramione drabble #dhr drabble #dhr #dramione ficlet #hermione granger #draco malfoy #draco x hermione #drabble #ficlet #where_ivy_grows #cross posted on twitter