DRACO MALFOY

endless gifs of james beaufort [76/???]

❛  nothing's going to happen to us, right?  ❜ ❛  i'm ... scared.  ❜ ❛  i don't like where this is going.  ❜ ❛  did i ever tell you i'm actually terrified of [the dark / heights / spiders / etc.]?  ❜ ❛  you hear me? we're not going to die today!  ❜ ❛  did you hear that? it sounded like screams.  ❜ ❛  i really, really don't like this.  ❜ ❛  we're completely alone here, nothing's going to happen to us.  ❜ ❛  this place has been abandoned for centuries.  ❜ ❛  whatever happens, keep the lights on.  ❜ ❛  you're not scared, are you?  ❜ ❛  this is like straight out of my worst nightmare.  ❜ ❛  do you believe in ghosts?  ❜ ❛  what are you afraid?  ❜ ❛  what was that?!  ❜ ❛  see, i told you there's nothing to be afraid of.  ❜ ❛  go on, no one will hear your screams.  ❜ ❛  it was a foolish idea to come here alone.  ❜ ❛  no one is going to save you now.  ❜ ❛  don't be afraid, i'm not going to hurt you.  ❜ ❛  you really think you can run from me?  ❜ ❛  it's a shame i'll have to kill you when we're done with this.  ❜ ❛  want to make a deal with the devil?  ❜ ❛  i'm not afraid of you. not anymore.  ❜ ❛  there are figures hiding in the shadows, waiting to strike.  ❜ ❛  this wasn't so bad now, was it?  ❜ ❛  what could possibly go wrong - it's just an old abandoned meaning, it doesn't mean it's haunted, right?  ❜ ❛  face it, we won't make it out of here alive.  ❜ ❛  i'll even give you a choice - it's either you or them. who's going to die tonight?  ❜ ❛  i will haunt you for the rest of your days.  ❜ ❛  don't scream, it will only make this worse.  ❜ ❛  you look so pretty when you're scared of me.  ❜ ❛  i won't kill you ... yet.  ❜ ❛  ghosts and monsters aren't real.  ❜ ❛  i'm not afraid of anything!  ❜ ❛  you! you're sick! you sent me here to die, didn't you?  ❜ ❛  close your eyes. it'll make it easier if you don't see it coming.  ❜ ❛  no matter where you hide, i'll always find you. so you better give up now.  ❜ ❛  i promise i'm gonna be your worst nightmare.  ❜ ❛  it's only over when i say it is.  ❜

She'd never been in the potions classroom during the battle, and Hermione finds herself grateful for that every time she enters. Not that it's completely free of visceral memories the gaping hollow at the front of the room where Professor Snape had once lorded over them all ensures that.

Luckily for her, she's always been rather good at throwing herself into her work. Using her habit of fixating as a crux to ignore all the things in her life she doesn't want to face. Perhaps not her most courageous of traits, but one of self-preservation. Unfortunately for her, she'd brewed polyjuice potion all on her own in the girl's bathroom in second year so this class is hardly the intellectual challenge she was hoping would distract her from her musings.

A familiar voice drags her out of her thoughts and Hermione looks up from her notes to him, doe-eyes wide and wary as they are every time they speak. It's her own stubbornness that landed her as his partner. When the rest of the classroom had snubbed him, she'd raised her hand and volunteered. Not because she felt sorry for him, he'd very much made his own bed, but because she wouldn't be scared off by her childhood bully. She had needed to prove to herself that those horrible memories do not control her or her actions.

And besides, it had only been for one measly class until it wasn't. It turns out that academically they'd made a rather good team, and Slughorn, delighted by anything that even hinted at his success as a teacher, had made the pairing permanent for the year.

"I'll cut," she decides after a moment of regarding him, the grey of his eyes far more unnerving than it had been when they were children. Draco Malfoy had changed (but then they all had). A new intensity to him that hadn't been there before. And she wasn't quite sure what to make of the look in his eyes when she'd catch him staring her way.

He inclined his head with a measured nod, stepping forward just enough to grant her more space before the cutting board, his own hand taking to the steady motion of stirring. One had to be deliberate, too quick, and the potion would bubble and rise, weakening both its potency and the precision of its final hue. At her remark, Tom’s gaze flicked back to her, unaccustomed to the sharpness in her voice, and he almost allowed himself the amusement of a laugh.

He knew of her history with Draco. The boy had been a desperate nuisance, not only with her but equally with Potter and the Weasley boy. Those memories lay open to him, catalogued and clear, as if spread upon a page.

“The conditions must be exact. The knife, silver. The stem of the plant left unbruised, else its juices bleed away and render the entire effort worthless. I have done it before.” His tone was calm, detached, as he unfastened his cuffs with one hand and pushed his sleeves neatly to his elbows. “If you feel compelled to oversee me out of doubt, you are, of course, welcome to do so, Granger.”

Her words dripped with venom, with years of unfinished battles; his, by contrast, remained courteous, touched only with indifference. He wondered whether that would bait her further, scratch at her Gryffindor pride, compel her to suspect some hidden deception. She did not trust him. Nor should she. Not Draco. Not him. But appearances mattered. This year demanded perfection. The Malfoy name would require careful restoration, and he could not afford unnecessary enemies, least of all those hailed as heroes of war.

Though her loud and frequent opinions on house elves remain as they were when she was a child and had first been introduced to this aspect of the wizarding world, with age Hermione has learned that not everything is so black and white. She cannot force elves to grasp had freedom outside of keeping the homes of wizards any more than she believes they should be forced to serve. And besides, his very smart button-up and bowtie told her what she needed to know to be satisfied he wasn't being exploited. No doubt a decade ago there'd not be a scrap of clothing to be found on a single elf in the Malfoy manor.

"Thank you, Dippy," she smiles at the elf as he returns to bring them their tea, that warm kindness that was so innate to her very being radiating in the soft gratitude of her expression. A free and paid elf he may be, but she thinks that Malfoy could use a lesson or two in appreciation (and her wry, chastising look his way after the elf disappears again says as much).

"Are there many books here that you would deem unsafe?" to the day it still fascinated her, no matter how acquainted she'd gotten with the more unsavory tomes in the restricted section, the way some books simply rejected being read. In a private library such as this, she does wonder how much of it is in response to the status of her blood. Hermione follows him into the depths of the stacks, that expression of awe having returned as she casts her eyes upwards, the sharp pang of regret coming over not being able to explore them unrestrained. Instead, she's forced to limit her attention to those books that benefit her work, no matter how enticing so many others looked.

“Unsafe?” He arched a brow. “I suppose that depends on your definition. I imagine your views on magic and mine don’t quite align. There are plenty of branches you’d likely call unsavory, even dark, while I’d hardly blink. Still...” his mouth curved into a faint smirk, “there are a few volumes here that dabble in older practices. Blood magic, for instance. Some texts won’t yield their secrets unless you bleed for them. Nothing dramatic, just a touch of blood on the page, and the words reveal themselves. It won’t harm you. Not anymore.”

His tone sharpened. “The Ministry made certain of that. They scoured the manor after the war, carted off anything they deemed ‘too dark.’” His lip curled. “Naturally, they took advantage, seized whatever they fancied under the guise of regulation. Typical.”

Contempt bled into every syllable. How could it not? For centuries, the Ministry had been nothing more than a ledger, bending whichever way the gold flowed. Laws passed, decisions shifted, all for the right coin. And now they dared to dress themselves up as noble arbiters of justice, as if their entire history hadn’t been rotten to the core.

“I haven’t read everything,” Draco admitted, flicking a glance at the shelves. “Nor do I intend to. Some sections are frankly tedious. There’s an entire wing on botany I wouldn’t touch unless it proved useful for a potion, and I have no interest in leafing through pointless drawings of plants.”

He carried himself with the polished air of a host, pointing out the corners of the library she’d find interesting. But being near her this long… it was a mistake. For a brief, unnerving moment, the only thing he could smell was her, clinging to the air, wrapping tight around his self-control.

Her pulse races, her breath ragged and uneven, catching in her throat as he slips his fingers inside her and curves them in a beckoning motion towards himself. Something between a gasp and a moan comes from her, sharp desire twisting low in her belly as she loses balance, grateful for her bum against the potions table the expensive mahogany steadying her once her footing no longer proves enough to hold her up, fingers gripping the edge of it.

The other hand twists in his shirt, head craning back to look up at him, eyes half-lidded with the heady pleasure that pulses through her every nerve end. Merlin. She may have overestimated her ability to survive this. To come out the other end unscathed.

Hermione hangs upon his every word, breathing in his warm exhales, dizzying with the thinning of their shared oxygen, her cunt clenching around his fingers. She knows what's coming before it happens, but still whimpers with the loss as he draws his hand back, giving her the room to do as he had demanded.

“So beautiful...” he breathed, reverent in a way that made the words sound almost like a prayer. One hand moved to her hip, followed the curve of her waist, tracked over ribs until he cupped a breast. His thumb rolled over the pebbled nipple, then pinched, just enough to give a spark of pain. “You’re perfect… impossible. How on earth did I ever resist you, when you make me mad with want?”

He wasn’t asking. Half of it he hadn’t even realised he’d said aloud; the thought had been a private thing for far too long. At school, his annoyance at her had felt wrong. Sometimes, he’d puzzled over why he was supposed to hate her, why being bested by her stung so much, why Potter and the others would have been lost without her. Years later, away from lessons and petty rivalries, with new urgings that his body kept inventing, the answer was ugly and simple: he could not resist her. Her blood, her body, the way she simply was, stronger than any control he’d ever pretended to have.

When he noticed her shiver, he apparated them to his bedroom. Part of him loved the idea of bending her over the potion table, of doing it there with the potions simmering and hissing, but this was their first time, and he wanted it slow enough to savor. “Have you really been as clueless as you pretend?” he murmured, stepping her backwards until her legs hit the side of his bed. He sank to his knees, breath hot, face level with her perfect little cunt.

“You weren’t aware of what you do to me? Of what you are doing to me?” The thin fabric was soaked; he leaned in, inhaled. “Mouthwatering. All of you.” He pulled the knickers down her legs and rose, undressing with the same impatient, animal grace.

“If I have you,” he said, voice low and hard, “I won’t let you go. I’ll keep you here, warming my cock whenever I want, drinking from you.” He smiled, showing a predatory edge, ripping the rest of his clothes away until he stood naked and dangerous. “Is that what you want, Hermione? For me to use you, to give you pleasure whenever I decide? Will you be good and let me do that?”

He's demanding of her now. His tone not asking as he pins her to the bed in his compromising position, with legs spread for him, the thin material of her knickers clinging to her wet cunt. And more than that, he wants her to vocalise the things she wants. A task that seems almost insurmountable considering she's never done this before not that he knows that.

Luckily, she's given a moments reprieve from answering in which that impossibly warm and wet mouth of his meets where she aches for him the most. It's languid, the way his tongue moves over her, unshy in how he runs patterns over her swollen clit making her cry out and arch off the bed, the sensation almost too much even though she knows he's barely begun.

"Draco," she gasps his name between a moan, looking down at him with flushed cheeks and wide eyes as he pushes a finger inside of her. Filling her in a way she never has been before. Of course, she'd explored with her won fingers before, but it wasn't the same. His are longer, at an angle she could never hope to reach, working to open her up for him.

They’d circled each other long enough, pretending there was restraint when there never really was. It was inevitable, and Draco knows it. Admitting it feels less like surrender and more like triumph.

Another finger slips inside her, his pace slow, deliberate, dragging back and forth, curling against that spot that makes her gasp like she’s being unraveled. His tongue presses back into her heat, savoring every twitch, every desperate sound. He doesn’t shut his eyes; he watches her. The quiver of her stomach, the rise of her breasts, her face tightening as her mouth falls open in that perfect “O.”

And then she moans his name. Merlin, his name. No one’s ever said it like that before, like she’s branded him with it, like every syllable belongs only to her. It nearly breaks him, nearly makes him forget what he’s doing, what he’s supposed to be holding back.

Her walls are already clenching around his fingers, and he knows he won’t last once he’s inside her. He’s wanted this too long. But right now, all that matters is her. Making her feel every bit of his want, making her understand she isn’t just desired, she’s devoured.

Hermione's brows pull together, expression punched and pained, an almost pleading glint to her big, brown eyes. Where she is going is dangerous and it didn't matter how much courage she has in the lion heart of hers she's scared. Of not returning and of never seeing him again. And of this being the last memory she has of him.

Why could he have not just settled into obliviousness? Why did he have to always be so bloody argumentative instead of taking her lie for face value and spending their last moments together snogging instead of fighting?

She flinches. The vehemence behind his threat his promise strong enough for her to know he means. At the very least in this moment. And he'd have the means. War has made him dangerous. Turning a scared boy into a weapon. And if he thinks he has nothing to lose than where would he turn himself but upon those who have wronged him?

It's desperation that has her moving forward on the settee, her hands catching his face between them. For the cause, yes. But more so for him. For them. "I can't tell you," she repeats, eyes wild. Pleading. "Not because I don't trust you. Or because I don't want you with me. I can't tell you because if there's any hope of a future beyond the world we're in this is it. This might be our last chance, Draco. To end it. To have that future."

She still didn’t understand. He’d long abandoned the lofty ideals his side had been fighting for. If he was honest, all he’d ever wanted was his father’s approval, to be the man he was told he ought to be. Power, yes, of course. But everything else? Mere ornament. And since the sixth year, fear had sunk its claws into him, curdling into anger, into rage. He was not that trembling boy who’d been handed an impossible task. Draco Malfoy had grown up. He’d done whatever was necessary to protect his parents.

But it wasn’t only about his parents anymore. Somehow, she had lodged herself in his chest, so deep it felt he couldn’t breathe properly until he saw her again. And Draco Malfoy was not one for half measures. He couldn’t simply enjoy her company or her body. He needed all of her. And unlike Granger, he was selfish.

“The only way forward is to fling yourself into a trap? To sacrifice yourself yet again, trying to save everyone, from Saint Potter down to the elves in the kitchens? And tell me, what happens to me if you don’t make it back? You can be ruthlessly logical when you want to be… or maybe I just don’t rank high enough on your list. With the entire Weasley spawn alone, I doubt I’d even make the top twenty.”

She would never be selfish, not even to save her own life. And he wanted to shake her, force her to see she was worth more than her endless martyrdom. But she wouldn’t listen. She never did.

“I can’t change your mind. So there’s no point in staying. We’ll meet in the battle, or we won’t. But you’d better survive, because if you don’t…” His jaw clenched. He’d burn it all down. To hell with sides, to hell with the war. None of it would matter.

BEING LEFT ❛  wait! you can't just leave me here alone!  ❜ ❛  i don't know how to live in a world where i'm all alone.  ❜ ❛  everyone i've ever loved has either left or died.  ❜ ❛  i'm not yet ready for it to end.  ❜ ❛  will we ever see each other again?  ❜ ❛  please! you promised! you promised you'd never leave.  ❜ ❛  if you leave now, i'll never forgive you.  ❜ ❛  are you really going to leave after everything we've been through?  ❜ ❛  how am i supposed to keep on like before when you're not here anymore?  ❜ ❛  i knew this day would come, but i hoped it wouldn't be today.  ❜ ❛  please don't go. not yet. just stay a little longer ...  ❜ ❛  don't just walk away. say something, anything, before you go.  ❜ ❛  so that's it? you're just ... gone?  ❜ ❛  you can't just walk away like none of this meant anything!  ❜ ❛  why does everyone i love always leave?  ❜ ❛  i should've known better than to think you'd stay.  ❜ ❛  is it really that easy for you to walk away?  ❜ ❛  you said we'd face the world together. now i have to face it alone.  ❜ ❛  if you're going, at least look me in the eyes and say goodbye.  ❜ ❛  i don't have the strength to watch you walk away again.  ❜

LEAVING ❛  i'm sorry, but i cannot stay here any longer.  ❜ ❛  for once, i'm trying to do the right thing.  ❜ ❛  you don't need me here anymore. you've always been stronger on your own.  ❜ ❛  i wish staying was enough. i really do.  ❜ ❛  don't look at me like that. if i don't walk away now, i never will.  ❜ ❛  one day, you'll understand why i have to walk away.  ❜ ❛  i wish i could stay, but this isn't my place anymore.  ❜ ❛  don't wait for me. i don't know when ... if i'll be back.  ❜ ❛  i wish there was another way. but there isn't.  ❜ ❛  this isn't goodbye because i don't care. it's because i do. too much.  ❜ ❛  this goodbye is the hardest thing i've ever had to do.  ❜ ❛  i'm leaving because i love you too much to keep hurting you.  ❜ ❛  i'm sorry i couldn't be what you needed me to be.  ❜ ❛  i have to go find who i am without all this.  ❜ ❛  just because i'm leaving doesn't mean i stopped caring.  ❜ ❛  i'm not running. i'm just done waiting.  ❜ ❛  every step i take away from here is breaking me.  ❜ ❛  i can't keep pretending this place feels like home.  ❜ ❛  the hardest part isn't leaving. it's knowing you'll be here when i'm not.  ❜ ❛  sometimes goodybe is the kindest thing we can say.  ❜

As it unclasps the chain, Hermione pushes her hair up and out of the way with one hand to give him room to put it on. Her breath catches as his thumbs trace along the line of her collarbones and make their way around her neck to fasten the necklace. She thinks how fortuitous it had been that she'd not chosen to wear a necklace, the locket perfectly complimenting her ballgown. It's almost a shame nobody would see it except for him. And maybe that made it all the more special.

Her skin comes alight where he touches, every nerve ending singing for him, just begging for one more touch. The locket's magic vibrates, warm and comforting as it lay atop her breastbone. "It feels... like it belongs to me," as if the magic had simply been waiting to make contact with her skin. His magic.

Hermione lets out a staggered breath as he steps away from her, the warmth radiating off him suddenly gone, leaving her exposed back cold once more. "And how do you plan on surprising me at the Gryffindor Tower if we can't be seen together?" she asks him, a little cheek in her tone. "Or will my surprise be snogging in the secret alcove by the statue outside the common room?" she continues her teasing as she heads for the door, preparing to lead him out.

“Secret alcove by the statue outside the common room. See? That’s already very important information.” Draco slipped on his cloak and followed behind her. The corridor was empty, and he knew most were still lingering in the Great Hall, or else had wandered off in smaller groups or pairs, chasing the last hours of the evening. He, however, couldn’t vanish for as long as he’d like. As much as he wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the night with her, he knew it was wiser to return to the ship.

“And it does belong to you…” he murmured, brushing his fingers over the necklace before taking her hand, their fingers intertwining with ease. “Ravadinovo Castle, that’s its Muggle name. You’d like it. It’s rather beautiful, set in the middle of a lake. Spring is the best, when the grounds are scattered with wildflowers and the air finally stops biting.” His mouth curved faintly, his tone slipping into quiet pride. “It’s not as grand as Hogwarts, no Houses or Sorting Hats, but our library far outshines this one. I imagine that’s what would tempt you most.”

He tugged her gently up the staircase, his voice carrying with practiced ease as he spoke of his favorite haunts, quiet corners by windows, places he would slip away to be alone. Yet he shared them greedily, wanting her to know these pieces of him he showed no one else, wanting her as hungry for him as he was for her.

“If we were there together, we could walk into the forest around it,” he went on. “Ours isn’t forbidden. Plenty of places for solitude… though far better with someone worth being alone with.” At the top of the staircase, the wooden door opened, and Draco knew they were close to the painting guarding her common room. He slowed, unwilling to let the moment end.

“We could steal some time tomorrow, after your classes. In the library, perhaps. Notice-Me-Nots, a corner to ourselves.” His pale eyes caught hers. “I suppose this is where I should wish you good night.” Yet he didn’t release her hand. “Good night, Hermione,” he said softly, his gaze flicking to the necklace at her throat. “You look even more beautiful wearing it.”