“ I have had to experience so much stupidity , so many vices , so much error , so much nausea , disillusionment and sorrow, just in order to become a child again and begin anew . I had to experience despair , I had to sink to the greatest mental depths , to thoughts of suicide , in order to experience grace . ”
#MALLFOII - independent , selective & private portrayal of draco malfoy from the harry potter books , movies & my own personal headcanons .
written by delila, 30+ GMT +1
this blog is very much anti joanne.
blog roll : @svjetllost (multi-muse blog)
RULES & VERSES under read more:
I write based on my muse, so please never pressure yourself that you have to reply to me or not be able to drop a thread. this is a hobby and I have no interest in forcing myself to write or expect anyone else to write when they just don't feel like it. my activity will fluctuate based on work, mood, muse etc.
this version of draco is canon-divergent, over the years I've read far too many fics, and my interpretation of him had been influenced and changed. now, he is not going to be unrecognizable to anyone who has seen the movies or read the books, but obviously, I do have my own headcanons when it comes to him & every writer has their own interpretation.
I personally love duplicates & love reading other people writing the same character as I do. I know others do not feel the same, which I respect, but if you do write Draco be it in a multi or single blog, feel free to follow, I'm sure we can figure out cool ways to write two dracos together.
I ship based on chemistry like most, and that doesn't mean any female character from any canon, but any character regardless of gender or sexuality. there is no need to limit ourselves, best to allow ourselves and our writing to connect and see where we go from there.
I do not have any triggers really, but there will be some dark themes here + smut now and again. I will tag it accordingly, but if I miss something please do tell me! - that being said I have no interest in writing ra*e, inc*st or anything to do with minors.
HUNGER GAMES VERSE: Draco comes from an affluent family in District 2, and due to his Father's advice he trained to then volunteer for the Hunger Games. He wins his games and his whole world shatters. Where he had gone to the games with the confidence and the cockiness of someone that was assured he would win, he was not prepared for actually killing anyone or dying. It had opened his eyes to what his father had prepared him to do and that he was ready for his son to be killed.
MCU/616 VERSE : inspired by Agatha All Along, Doctor Strange & WandaVision, Draco is a wizard/witch and he strives to gather as much knowledge and power as possible so that he can protect himself as best as he can. He does take part in helping Strange when asked but only when it benefits himself. Usually not caring for the Sorcerer Supreme, he stays in England and practices away from America and the usual calamities that befall them. This changes after the End Game, when both his parents disappear due to what Thanos had done.
HISTORICAL VERSE : taking inspiration from the classics i.e Jane Austen, Bronte Sisters etc. this verse will have a historical & modern version. in the historical Draco is a noble lord, his father has died and his mother is desperate to marry him off. while he wants nothing less, he will respect her decision for him and do as she says, mostly.
GOTHIC VERSE: inspired by Penny Dreadful, Picture of Dorian Gray & Wuthering Heights, Draco is a young man living in Victorian London. His parents are looking for a young lady to marry him off, unaware of his son's hobbies and interest and that he leads a double life.
VAMPIRE VERSE : inspired by Interview with the Vampire & Dracula - to be written out.
WEREWOLF VERSE: this verse takes place during the sixth book i.e Half-Blood Prince. As punishment for his father's endless failures, the only Malfoy heir was bitten by Greyback by Voldemort's orders. So when Draco goes back to his sixth year, he is already a werewolf. Snape supplies him with the potion every full moon and he uses the Shack for his transformations. No one other than Snape knows about this - at school that is. He still has to repair the cabinet and kill Dumbledore by the end of year.
FANTASY VERSE: inspired by lord of the rings, house of the dragon and game of thrones. - to be written out.
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He could feel it, the magic. Not the ordinary kind that clung to most old places, but something stranger, quieter. As though no one had set foot here in decades or longer. No wards humming in the air, no hexes strung up to bar intruders, Muggle or otherwise. And yet, the place was wrong.
The stone house stood too pristine. The shutters closed but unbroken, the doors still on their hinges. Moss crept along the path, and vines curled up the walls, but they looked deliberate, as though someone had arranged them to look quaint. Picturesque, even. The grounds were wild, yes, but in a way that left the house unobscured, inviting. Too inviting.
It felt like a trap. That was his first instinct. Everything about it was carefully off, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. He’d already scoured for traces of Dark magic, checked for protective spells. Nothing. Perhaps he was looking for the wrong thing.
“It’s all a little too perfect,” he muttered at last, eyes narrowing. “I don’t think we should go any further, certainly not inside.” The warning was more for Granger’s benefit than his own; he half-expected her to charge at the door like some self-righteous battering ram. He turned slightly, lowering his voice with deliberate precision. “We need a plan.”
mugglebrn asked: ❛ this place has been abandoned for centuries. ❜ - MEME - accepting!
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“Oh, absolutely petrified, Weasley,” Draco drawled, his mouth twisting into a smirk. “Imagine it, linger here too long and suddenly I’m surrounded by an army of freckled faces. Now that is a nightmare beyond comprehension.”
He’d never admit it, of course, but unlike some of her dreary siblings, the She-Weasel at least had enough wit to land a jab that wasn’t completely pathetic. Not that he’d ever say so to her face. Still, sparring with her was leagues more entertaining than suffering her brainless brother’s attempts at banter.
Draco leaned back against the stone wall, pale eyes gleaming. “Careful now. If I didn’t know better, I might almost think you were threatening me. And imagine if someone overheard…” His voice trailed off into a mockingly thoughtful hum.
The corridor was deserted, bathed in the golden wash of the setting sun. From outside, faint shouts and laughter drifted in from students by the lake, wringing the last warmth from the day. Inside the castle, though, it was just the two of them, the silence far too convenient, far too dangerous, for comfort.
theirmadness asked: you're not scared, are you? / from ginny - MEME / accepting!
He had to hand it to Scarhead; Potter never wasted time with pleasantries. Straight to being insufferable, as always. And the worst part? Draco almost always took the bait. He’d regret it later, of course, but in the moment… resisting was impossible.
“Projecting, Potter?” Draco drawled, shifting on the wooden bench with a creak. He stretched out, uncrossing his legs and draping an arm lazily over the backrest, as though Potter weren’t even worth sitting up for. For once, the Boy Who Lived had come alone, no Weasel, no Granger, no one to chime in on his behalf. Curious.
Maybe Potter thought he could win something out of him, some scrap of information, some clumsy Gryffindor scheme he thought was clever. Laughable, really. Still, Draco smirked; he could twist this to his own advantage. “You don’t sound half as sure of yourself as you usually do,” he remarked, his pale eyes narrowing with amusement. “Wonder why that is.”
boylived asked: “you're not scared, are you?” - MEME / accepting!
❛ 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. ❜
It's strange being back. The halls that had once brought so much warmth and comfort to her soul now tainted with the ghostly impressions of every dead body she'd seen strewn about the place. Friends and loved ones. Classmates, and acquaintances. Even strangers and enemies. Their lifeless eyes and bloodied corpses can be seen in flashes of memory if she were to so much look in wrong corner of the castle.
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.
Right now, she just looks at him sceptically as she slides the chopping board of ingredients over to her. "You're offering to go into the forbidden forest on an autumn evening and dig up fluxweed roots? Aren't you worried you'll get mud all over your fancy dragonhide boots?" there's a venom to her teasing she'd never have with her friends, a sharp edge as she questions his silver spoon attitude.
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.
“I imagine you are unaccustomed to capable partners in your own House. But I assure you, I know precisely what I am doing. You doubt me, don’t you?” A faint curve tugged at his lips. Teasing her was too tempting a sport to resist.
It had all been so seamless. An almost effortless transition into an entirely new state of being. Amusing, really, almost comical, now that he allowed himself the luxury of hindsight. To return to Hogwarts had never been the original plan. And yet, here he was: once more a student, once more enduring lessons, assignments, the petty chatter of the common room, and the dull green shadows of the lake pressing against the windows.
Still, it was a beginning. Not the one he had anticipated, but one he had crafted himself when all others had failed. And failed miserably they had. But this… this offered something better. Control. A chance to observe, to dissect his own past errors, and to do it all again, correctly, this time.
There had been no anger. He understood what his older self had done, what he had squandered, and what had been lost in arrogance and haste. Rage was useless; regrouping was not. This was an opportunity.
Becoming Draco Malfoy had required little effort. The boy’s memories, every detail of his life, were there at Tom’s command, pliant and precise. No one suspected. No one could.
And so he sat in the Potions classroom, the cauldron bubbling softly before him, the list of ingredients scrawled on the board, and at his side, his newest partner. A far more interesting development than the potion itself. The Brightest Witch of her Age. Hermione Granger. A vaunted title, one he very much intended to test. " We need Fluxweed Roots for later. I will pick them when there's a full moon. For now, we need to add Horn of Bicorn and Lacewing Flies. Do you want to cut them or stir? "
for @mugglebrn since there is never enough threads!
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The library could have had her undivided attention solely for hours upon hours had she not been distracted by the sudden pop of apparition the house elf he'd called Dippy appearing between them, looking up at Draco with impossibly wide eyes. Hermione opens her mouth to protest, both to the elf and the food but he beats her to speaking and she's forced to bite back her objections.
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.
"Have you read much in here?" she supposes he's had a lot of time on his hands given the recluse he'd become after his transformation.
“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.
“I’ll leave you to it,” he said abruptly, straightening. “If you need help, call. I’ll be by the fireplace.” A polite nod, and he turned on his heel, eager to put distance between them. The library felt suddenly suffocating, and if he lingered a moment longer, he wasn’t sure whether he’d regret it… or whether it would land him in far worse trouble.
The knock of his foot against hers has her widening her legs, giving him the room he demands to snap open the buttons on her trousers and slip his hand down the front. Her skin warms all the more knowing how wet he finds her between the legs. How utterly drenched her knickers are, all from a few possessive words and him drinking from her. Hermione thinks she should be embarrassed that's all it had taken, but all she feels is pride as it draws a moan from him, the sound so delicious that she'll replay it in every one of her late-night fantasies from that point on.
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.
For a moment she just watches him, flushed in the face and doe-eyed, the table still the only thing keeping her up. Then, silently and without breaking eye contact, she begins to undress herself. Slowly. Tugging her jumper overhead, shuffling her trousers down and kicking them aside, unclipping her plain, white bra and tossing it to join the rest of her clothes, not stopping until she's clad only in her mis-matched pink knickers. The cold of the room has goosebumps rising along her skin, her nipples pebbling as they're exposed to the chilled air. She supposes he wouldn't notice the way the manor always ran just a touch too cold wouldn't feel the phantom frigid fingers that curl along her skin and make her shiver as she stands there under his scrunity. Though maybe her trembling is as much from anticipation.
He gave her room to strip, but he watched everything, every sliver of exposed skin was a promise, each inch a new thing to taste, to mark. She took everything off until the only thing left was a ridiculous little pair of pink knickers, and Draco felt furious and ravenous in the same heartbeat. He wanted to bite that offending cloth off her, wished to lap at her until she teetered on the edge and then pull away, again and again, until she was raw with want and understood the ache he’d been carrying.
“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?”
Then he crawled onto the bed, closing the distance with a hunger that had nothing to do with restraint.
She never used his given name. And she's never stopped to examine why. It's just the way things had always been with them. A boundary neither had crossed. Malfoy and Granger. Never Draco and Hermione.
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.
"I want you to help me forget," she's not good with talk the way he is, doesn't know how to say filthy things that make her heart race with anticipation the way he does, but her words are blaringly honest, looking down at him from over heaving breasts. "I don't want to think about anything outside of this room. I only want to think about you."
He’s locked on her, completely. Obsessed doesn’t even begin to cover it. The way her nipples harden, the way her thighs tremble by his face, it’s like every filthy thought he’s ever had is unfolding right here, right now. She’s his. Naked. Stunning. All those fantasies he used to torture himself with, he can finally make them real.
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.
He drags his tongue over her again, then seals his lips around her clit, sucking hard enough to have her body bucking, to push her over the edge. Fingers working, mouth claiming, every bit of her unraveling beneath him, exactly where she belongs.
The sound of his laughter hits a chord that has something ugly curling in her belly. Because she knows. Has heard it before. Just not for a long time now. He's not going to wait until she doesn't show up to lash out. He's doing it now.
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."
"I don't want to spend my life fighting. I don't want to spend it only having you between these walls. I want more for us. Can't you see that this is the only way?" They're both invaluable to the cause, but only in their respective positions her by Harry's side and him as a spy.
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.
And with that, Draco turned sharply on his heel, disappearing before he said something that betrayed just how much it tore him apart to let her walk into danger.
"Yes." The word left his lips, though his own voice sounded foreign, hollow. If she touched him, Merlin forbid she would want to, she’d find his skin cold as stone. He was Occluding, more fiercely than usual. It felt as though he’d stepped into another room and slammed the door on every emotion he had. They weren’t gone, just muted, like whispers in the distance, too faint to sway him, too faint to matter.
"We had our fun, Granger." The words were casual, dismissive, though the truth of it twisted like a knife inside him. She was the most important person to him, had become that without his permission. But she didn’t need to know, and he’d never been fool enough to say it aloud. Love was a weakness, and he loved her more than he’d ever thought himself capable of, enough that he had to force himself to feel nothing at all.
"The final battle is nearly here. Time to wrap this up." His voice carried the indifference of someone predicting tomorrow’s weather, though boredom dripped from it, deliberate and cold. He hoped her side would win. He hoped she’d survive. As for himself? At best, he’d rot in Azkaban, the disgraced Malfoy heir. And knowing her, she’d waste her strength trying to save him, again and again, and he couldn’t let her. It was better this way. For her.
"I’ve no more information. Perhaps it’s time we said goodbye. Next time you see me…" He smirked faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "You won’t recognize me."
The mask would see to that. And behind it, he’d do the only thing left to him, strike down anyone who dared to raise a hand against her.
mugglebrn asked: ❛ is it really that easy for you to walk away? ❜ / MEME - accepting!
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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. ❜
"You might be one of the few," Hermione says, though it's not self-deprecating. Just... honest. She'd been the butt of too many jokes and teases about her hair growing up not to know the way other people felt about it. Even the Yule Ball in fourth year had reinforced it when she'd tamed her curls into a sleek style and suddenly was treated like the belle of the ball.
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.
The hidden staircase is only a short walk, the entrance disguised behind a heavy tapestry in a dark corner just before the entrance to the dungeons, and she relaxes once they're behind it, knowing they wouldn't come across a soul it the dusty, old staircase. Hermione conjures a floating ball of light, sending it from her wand tip to hover just in front of them, illuminating their way up. "What's Durmstrang Castle like?" she wonders if it holds the same warm, inviting feeling of home for him that Hogwarts holds for her.
“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.”
He leaned forward, his free hand brushing her hip, and pressed his lips lightly against her cheek.